


Jimjeran Book 1: Island Fever

by BetweenScenes



Series: Jimjeran [1]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Marshall Islands, Peace Corps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-02-09 02:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 102,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetweenScenes/pseuds/BetweenScenes
Summary: Jimjeran(shim-sher͂on): Marshallese-- a lifelong companionClaire is a nurse in the Peace Corps, spending 18 months in the Marshall Islands.  Down the road, three Peace Corps volunteers--Jamie, Angus, and Rupert--are running the local elementary school.





	1. Meester Shamie

**[Right Click, "Open in New Tab" for Audio Chapter](https://s3-us-west-1.amazonaws.com/patreon-posts/7VoPIjVy9nA2wlQf9Ozf2XwrMO6cjpb8HBmXusw1Wc4G0EBrBhBgdqFJ2QryrQ6F.mp3)**

     “Miss Peachay! Miss Peachay!”  I heard yelling from outside and rushed to the door of the clinic to see what was causing the commotion.

      “Meester Shamie is hurt!” one little girl called out to me.  “Meester Shamie is bleed!”

     It was hard to decide what it was I was seeing.  A mass of children—black hair, dark eyes, beautiful tan skin—was swarming toward the clinic, surrounding a hobbling adult, a tall man with furiously red hair.

      “Help!” the children were crying out.  “Help!  Help Meester Shamie!”

     I propped the clinic door open with a rock, then waded through the crowd of kids to the man.  When I got closer, I realized that despite his impressive size, he wasn’t very old.  He looked like a college student, about my brother Seth’s age, and he was grimacing in pain.

     I quickly inspected him for damage.  He was wearing a tee shirt and board shorts, and the entire right rear side of his board shorts, which appeared to be torn, as well as the copper hair of his right calf, was streaked with blood. I tucked myself under his arm and put my arm around his waist to help him hop the rest of the way into the clinic.

     As we entered, he turned to one of the tallest boys.  “Get Mister Angus and Mr. Rupert,” he said.  “See if they can borrow the truck to get me home.”

     The kids would willingly have followed us into the clinic, but I shooed them away and shut the screen door.  “Mister Shamie will be okay,” I said, “But I need to help him and can’t have extra germs around.”

      “Sherms?” the kids asked, looking around in confusion.  "Where is sherms?"  I turned my attention to my patient, and figured the children would wander off in boredom.

      “Where are you hurt?” I asked him, circling him to where I could better see the apparent tear in his swimming trunks.  He had kicked off his flip-flops at the front door, and was leaving small bloody smudges on my floor.

      “I dinna ken, exactly.  It hurts like… _cack_ …Holy Hell,” he winced and panted.  “But I think it’s my arse, or my upper thigh, in the back.”  There was some accent to his voice, however strained it seemed.  I couldn’t quite place it, but that wasn’t the first order of business, anyway.

      “We’re going to need to get your shorts off,” I said.  “Do you think you can pull them off, or shall I cut them off?”

      “I dinna think I can bend to pull them off, but it’s not easy to get new clothes out here.  Can ye help me, lass?”

     _Lass_ , I thought triumphantly.  _Scottish.  Goes with the hair, I guess._ I went over to the cupboard and pulled out a hospital gown that opened in the back.

      “Over the shirt or take it off?” I asked.

      “Off,” he grimaced.  “It’s sweltering in here.”  He reached up to the neck of his tee and pulled it off over his head, balancing on his left leg.

     I was trained to keep professional, no matter what body type I was working with, but in my professional opinion, Meester Shamie had an excellent set of pectoralis majors and a well-defined set of rectus abdominis muscles. 

     I helped him put his arms through the sleeves of the gown, and then walked around to tie the back closure.  He was tall, probably 6’4”, so I had to stretch just slightly to get the upper one tied, beneath the flame-red curls at the back of his neck.

     As I debated how best to remove his board shorts, I glanced back toward the door, where I saw seven or eight little round faces peering in through the doorway.

      “We’ve got an audience,” I said to him, gesturing at the doorway.

      “ _Jaab lale_ ,” he said, shaking his head.  “ _Etal!”_

      “What did you say?” I asked him, as the little audience quickly obeyed and disappeared.

      “Don’t watch.  _Jaab_ -don’t, _lale_ -look.  _Etal_ is go away.”

      “They _obeyed_ you,” I said, surprised.

      “I’m their teacher,” he said, somewhat indignantly.  “They’d _better_ obey me.”

     With the audience gone, I walked around behind him.  “I’m going to try not to hurt you, or your shorts.  But if you start screaming, I’m grabbing my scissors.”

      “D’ye have any whisky?” he asked hopefully.

      “Ummm,” I replied.  “I’ve got Advil or Tylenol.”

      “ _A graidh,_ ” he laughed.  “Not nearly as much fun.”

     I was trying to pull out on the elastic waist of the shorts, when he gave a little grunt.

      “Ah, lass, I forgot.  The drawstring is tied in the front.”  He had been leaning on the examination table, supporting his weight with his hands, and when he let go of the table and tried to pull up the gown to get at his shorts, he groaned and swayed slightly.

      “Let me,” I said compassionately.  “I’m a nurse.”

     I lifted his gown in the front until I could see the waistband of his shorts.  He turned his head away, as if he didn’t want to make eye contact while I was so close.  The tie was just inside the waistband, so I reached my fingertips inside and pulled at the end of the laces.  They resisted, so I tugged a little harder.

     He chuckled ruefully, closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.  “It’s double knotted,” he groaned, his cheeks flushing.

      “Okay,” I said as I finally bent to business.  No more messing around, but I might as well distract him.  “So, what’s your name?” I asked, flipping down the front waistband of his shorts so I could see the tie and worked on pulling the knot loose with my fingernails. Incidentally, it also revealed a little russet hair below his navel. “Did I hear them calling you Mr. Shamie?  Like _Seamus_?”

     He laughed, “Ah, no.  The ‘juh’ and ‘shuh’ sounds are the same in Majol—I mean, Marshallese.  I’m Jamie.  Jamie Fraser.”

      “Claire,” I said, smiling up at him.  “Claire Beauchamp…I’d shake your hand, but I’m taking off your pants right now.”

     He chuckled, and then groaned again.  “Can we hurry?  I really need to lie down.”

     The knot finally untied, I again moved around to his back.  Pulling the elastic as far as I could to avoid his wound, I scooted the waistband downward until it had cleared his backside, and then I dropped the shorts to the floor.  I closed the gown, and helped Jamie lie face down on the table.

     I picked up the shorts and tossed them into the sink, figuring he’d probably want to rinse out the blood before he wore them again.

      “Okay,” I said.  “Let’s have a look at this injury.”

     Leaving him as decently covered as I could, I pulled the right side of the gown away until I could see the angry red cut across his right buttock that actually showed little white sections where it had gone as deep as the fat layer.  It was still slowly oozing blood. It was the strangest shape, though, the cut like an repeated “s” curve that rippled across his skin.

     I removed the suture kit from the cabinet and brought over the lidocaine and a syringe.  I figured I should give the numbing medication a chance to work before I began suturing.  First I laid a pre-soaked cloth with a numbing gel on it across the gash itself, and then I injected lidocaine in several locations along the sides of the cut, my patient wincing but staying silent as I did.

     While I waited for the lidocaine to take effect, I rinsed the blood out of his shorts, wrung them out thoroughly, and hung them over the back of a chair.  I also grabbed his flip-flops and rinsed them as well, and used a Clorox wipe to wipe up the blood stains on the floor.

      “Now, how did you do this to yourself?” I asked, as I grabbed a basin and filled it with some slightly warm water from the tea kettle. I had just sat down on my rolling stool to begin cleaning the area when there was a clatter at the front door, and two young men suddenly appeared.  One of them had a scraggly beard and a sloppy man bun, and the other was just sloppy.

      “Aye, and ye’d be the new Peace Corps nurse?” Man Bun said.

      “Yes,” I said, “I’m about to suture your friend’s bum, so you can stay or go as you want to.”

      “Oh,” Sloppy said.  “Definitely stay.  Are ye going to scream, Jamie?”

     I heard Jamie mumble something, so I leaned closer to hear him.  “Kick them out, please,” he said.

      “Okay,” I said, moving toward the two gentlemen, then pulling the curtain around the bed to conceal Jamie from view.  “You can stay in the waiting area.”  I motioned to the two folding metal chairs by the front door.

      “Thanks,” Jamie said, when I sat down next to him.  “I was going to go fishing with a couple of my students.  They’d made a makeshift boat from corrugated aluminum.  I was climbing in, but I made the boat top heavy, I guess, and it started to tip and made me lose my balance.  Anyway, I slipped, wi’ my right leg in the boat and my left leg still on the dock.  And I sat down on the corrugated metal, and that’s when it cut me.”

      “Oh, that would explain this strange pattern,” I said, gently swabbing the surrounding area.

      He groaned slightly.  "Tell me if ye need me to move or anything.  Am I in the right position?"

      “Did it make ye a eunuch, Jamie?”  a voice came from the waiting area.  I thought it might be Man Bun, but I wasn’t certain.  “And before ye’d even got a chance to…”

      “Hush yer gob,” said Jamie. “I’m serious, Angus.  If ye can’t shut up, yer just going to have to leave.”

      "Don't be mean to Angus," the other voice said.  "Ye know that the Bible tells ye what ye should do when someone makes ye mad?  It says to turn the other cheek!"  Jamie grunted again, apparently not finding the jokesters very funny.

      “I’ll be back in a minute,” I said, setting down the cloth.

     I went back out to the waiting area.  “I really need to focus on suturing, and you are making my patient agitated.  Perhaps you could wait outside?”

     When Man Bun and Sloppy left, I went back, finished cleaning as quickly and gently as I could, and then began suturing.  Eighteen stitches later, Jamie had a curvy line of sutures traveling diagonally across his butt cheek, and I covered it with gauze and affixed it with a few pieces of sterile tape. 

      “Sorry about this,” I said.  “Your hair is going to make removing the bandage kind of painful.”

      “The hair on my arse, ye mean?” he mumbled into the paper covering of the exam table.

      “Yes, sadly.” I said.  “Now, arm or ass?” I asked him. 

     He looked at me, startled.  “Excuse me?” he said. “Obviously, my arse does not have armor.  In fact, ‘tis pretty tender right now, even with the thousand numbing shots you poked me with.”

      “Sorry,” I said. “That wasn’t clear _or_ professional.  I need to give you a tetanus shot and a shot of penicillin.  Both are given intramuscularly, so the injections need to be in your deltoid or your glute.  Do you have a preference?  Because your injury is on your backside, I thought it might be easiest to give you your shot while you’re in this position.  Giving an injection in your arm would require you to stand up or sit, and I doubt it would be very comfortable right now.  I can even do it in the side that’s still numb.”

      “Arse it is,” Jamie mumbled.  “Go for it.  Canna be much worse than I feel right now.”

     Tetanus and antibiotic shots complete and painkillers administered, Jamie was almost ready to leave.  But not clothed.  “I canna put my shorts back on,” Jamie said, still prone on the examination table.

      “Yeah, you probably shouldn’t,” I answered.  “But you’ve got to get home.”

     He looked down at the hospital gown.  “Can I borrow this?” he asked.  It was white and only went halfway to his knees.  Completely unflattering, I thought.

      “Wait,” I said.  “I’ve got a sarong you can borrow.  I’ll be back in a minute.”

     I headed next door to my apartment, and found the blue batik sarong that I sometimes used as a swimsuit coverup back at home.  Jamie eyed me skeptically when I showed it to him.

      “It’ll just wrap around you,” I said.  “Easy to put on and take off.”

      “How d’ye put it on?”  He asked.

      “Are you a Scotsman or aren’t you?” I asked.

     He scoffed.  “I can put on a kilt,” he said, “But I dinna have a belt here.”

     I demonstrated on myself, bringing the sarong behind my back, wrapping the left side around to the right, and then the right over the left, securely tucking the end of the fabric in at my left front waist.

      “Thanks, lass,” he said.  I handed him his tee shirt and left him to wrap himself up in privacy.  He was hobbling slightly when he emerged from the curtain, but honestly looked quite handsome in tee and sarong.

      I finally handed the young man off to his two friends, who it turned out were Angus (Man Bun) and Rupert (Sloppy), the other two teachers at the Peace Corps school on the other side of the village.

      “Come visit us,” said Angus.  “It’s about a mile from here.  Metal roof.  On the left.  We live in the apartments on the “iar” side.”

      “Yar side?” I asked.

      “Iar.  Lagoon side,” clarified Mr. Man Bun.  “And bring food when ye check on Jamie.  We havena been off this island in six weeks, so we’re starving.  'Cept for Rupert.  Somehow he still manages to stay fat.”  Angus dodged Rupert’s fist, as the two helped Jamie into the bed of a rusty pick-up truck.

      “Keep it clean!” I admonished Jamie, who was uncomfortably resting on his left side.  I could just imagine how painful the jostling trip back to their house would be, even if it was only a mile.  When I came inside, I saw his torn board shorts still drying over the chair in my operatory.  I grabbed them and took them back to the apartment with me; I was pretty sure I had a sewing kit somewhere, and if I could manage with a suture set, I could probably fix a tear.

     I was smiling to myself for the next hour, and then I finally realized why.  I’d just had my first conversation fully in English since I’d arrived on the island and seen Laura leave me, flying back to Majuro on the plane.

  
Not a good-quality picture, but every time I saw this boat, I thought, Now that's an accident waiting to happen. . .


	2. Miss Peach-ay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was crazy. A tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean? What the hell was I thinking?

**[Right Click, "Open in New Tab" for Audio Chapter](https://s3-us-west-1.amazonaws.com/patreon-posts/NfJgwAGH_Pib1jWieze7FuIHH9mzGetoWWbeRK0cg4k9yT8ZgNL3clwEwhUlJWCc.mp3)**

     “What the _hell_ was I thinking?”

     “Did you say something, Claire?” Laura yelled over the roar of the airplane engines.

     “No,” I responded, shaking my head and staring down at the little green and white loop of shoe-string flung in the middle of the indigo Pacific Ocean, my home for at least the next 18 months.

    I thought our pilot was trying to land us in the water as the plane began to slow and descend.  I couldn’t see anything beneath us, in front of us, or to either side.

     “What’s he doing?” I finally yelled to Laura, terrified.  “There aren’t pontoons on this plane!”

     “Don’t worry.  He’s landing on the airstrip,” she yelled back.  Airstrip?  It wasn’t until we were merely hundreds of feet off the ground and the tall green coconut palm trees came into sight that I realized she wasn’t kidding.  We were landing on an airstrip, indeed—an airstrip that took up the entire width of the island.  As the plane taxied bumpily on the grass runway, I looked in amazement at my surroundings.  Water to my left, water to my right.

     “You knew it was an atoll, didn’t you?” Laura asked, grinning at the shell-shocked look of terror in my eyes.

     “I knew what atoll meant, but I didn’t realize it referred to an island that is only like, five feet wide,” I said, extricating myself out of the cramped seat once the plane had stopped and the engines had sputtered until the propellers were still.

     “Don’t exaggerate,” Laura laughed.  “At its narrowest point, it’s still at least 30 feet wide.”

    I’d stared at the little island of Arno on Google Earth, zooming in as close as I could when I’d first accepted the assignment, curious about this place I’d never been.   I could see the wide treed portion where the clinic was in the village of Ine, and I’d followed the narrow strip with a single road down the center around to see where the main island ended but the shallower water continued along the edge of the lagoon, soon to become another little island in the circular chain.

    I had always dreamed of being in the Peace Corps, volunteering in some remote community for a year or two after college. But Frank Randall and I had met when I was just a freshman, and twitter-pated by the handsome, mature, intelligent history major’s interest in me I had simply forgotten who I had wanted to be one day. Frank graduated that year, continued toward his masters’ degree, and then taught in the history department my final year in the nursing program.  When I graduated, he proposed.

    Five years after graduating, Frank and I were still engaged and living together, just had never set a date.  So on my 27th birthday I had announced to him that I was joining the Peace Corps.

     “You’re kidding, right, Claire?” he said, taken aback by my cavalier announcement.

     “No,” I said, shaking my head.  “We’re not married yet, we don’t have kids yet, and you’re doing research for your doctoral thesis.  You can use the focused time to write, and I won’t have regrets once I’m too old or too entangled to volunteer anymore.”

     “Eighteen months, though, Claire?” Frank looked at me in concern.  “You know fertility decreases with age, don’t you?”

     “And _you_ know we haven’t been using birth control for the last five years, don’t you?” I responded.  “If it was going to happen naturally, it would have happened by now.”  I’d stopped taking the pill when I finished my last day of nursing school, figuring if we got pregnant at least that might light a fire under laconic Frank’s ass.  I’d dropped enough hints about marriage, and I was getting tired of my mom scolding me, saying, “They say a man won’t buy a cow when the milk is free.” 

    Thinking about Frank’s disappointed confusion had me feeling emotional, but I blinked the tears away and whipped my hair up into a sloppy bun.  It was humid, and not only did my naturally curly hair get ten times curlier, my neck and face were almost instantly glistening with sweat, and I could feel a single droplet traveling down between my breasts.

    A pickup truck had rattled up to the plane, and Laura and I took turns handing heavy boxes down from the cargo hold of the plane and then putting them in the back of the truck, practically filling the truck bed with boxes.  When everything was loaded, Laura went to the pilot.  Holding up two fingers, she said, “Ruo awa.” Two hours.  I almost had a panic attack at the thought.

    Laura came smilingly back to the pickup, where it seemed as if the driver was asking Laura if we wanted to ride or walk.  After the cramped half hour on the plane, I thought walking might be nice, but I was only wearing sandals and it sounded like the clinic was two miles away.  I needed as much useful time with Laura as possible.  With the idea of seeing the clinic and apartment as another motivator, I hopped up into the bed, found a sturdy box and sat down, tucking the skirt of my sundress around my legs so it wouldn’t fly up in the breeze.   

    Laura smiled at my wide-eyed fascination as we rode along, attempting to point out different landmarks.  I didn’t need a travelogue, though; my brain felt full enough as it was.  It seemed like I’d been transported back in time.  The airstrip had been in a completely clear grassy area with no trees, but we quickly reached the coconut palm tree “forest,” if that’s what you could call it, coconut trees scattered across the sandy landscape, interspersed with bushes, some places overrun with green jungle plants.  The road was white gravel.  At times it was level and looked like any other dirt or gravel road I’d seen, but at other times it was two narrow channels of tire tracks with a grassy stripe down the middle. 

    After a few minutes, we began to see signs of life.  Two little kids walked along the road barefoot, the little girl in a skirt and tee shirt, the toddler in just a tee with a pair of bare brown buns below.  They moved to the side of the road and waved and smiled at us, white teeth beautifully splitting their tan faces.

     “They’ll steal your hearts,” Laura said.  “Gosh, I’m going to miss them.”

     “Well, thanks for sticking around to give me an initiation,” I said.  “There’s no way I would have known how to shop for six months at a time, and I can’t imagine finding my way out here with my limited language knowledge.”

    I had tried, honestly I had.  But between having the stomach flu for three days during the immersive training in Hawaii and my chronic thick-headedness when it came to learning foreign languages, I had escaped from my language orientation knowing only “Where are you going?” “Kwej etal n͂an ia?*” and  “Ejjab melele**,” which meant, helpfully, “I don’t understand.”

    Thankfully, I was going to have a translator for a few hours each morning during my basic clinic time, so I could learn about people’s symptoms and better treat and teach them.

    Laura had been the nurse on Arno for the previous 18 months.  With her service time coming to an end, the Corps had sought a replacement for her, and I was the one chosen.  An island with an area of a mere 5 square miles with only 2000 inhabitants spread throughout the 133 little islands surrounding the large central and two smaller lagoons didn’t warrant a huge hospital, but having a nurse practitioner at the clinic brought about an instant improvement to the quality of life for the locals.  I would be responsible for basic health and sanitation education, family planning advice and medications, and general emergency care.  For more serious injuries or trauma, the hospital on Majuro, 20 miles away, was able to send a helicopter to the airfield to pick up patients.

     “That’s the Iroij’s*** house,” Laura shouted over the rattle of the truck, gesturing at a utilitarian cement block structure a ways back from the road on a slight rise.  It was surrounded by a few other small houses, outbuildings, and shacks, and had a neatly kept yard covered with white gravel.  “Mr. Timisen is the local governor.  He speaks pretty decent English, and he has one of the two satellite phones on the island, if you need to get word to headquarters in Majuro before your short wave radio appointment.”

    Where we were currently driving I couldn’t see the ocean, but every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of the turquoise water of the lagoon.  It was surreal, beautiful, and humid.  I scratched my leg; I think so far I’d counted sixteen mosquito bites.  I was grateful for the multiple cans of bug spray I had packed in one of the boxes.

    As we went farther, there were more and more houses—gray brick buildings with low windows, shacks cobbled together of corrugated aluminum, plywood, and plastic sheeting, some with grass or palm branch roofs, and yards of the same white rocks. 

    Adults and children stared at us curiously.  Laura seemed to get the lion’s share of the greetings and smiles.  “Miss Leenchah!”  they called out excitedly.  “Miss Leenchah, iiọkwe eok!”

     “Leenchah?” I asked, confused.  “Isn’t your last name Lynch?”

     “Yeah,” she said.  “Putting “uh” or “ay” at the end of your name is a Marshall term of endearment.  You’ll have to write and tell me what nickname they give _you_!”

    Write. Now that was a new one. Write with pen and paper, envelopes, and stamps. Arno didn’t have electricity, much less cell service or WiFi.  I was already panicking without my cell phone to look at for the time, the weather, the news, texts from friends.  I’d bought an actual wristwatch, but not really wanting a watch tan, I’d found a cute watch necklace, which hung upside down. I could easily grab the watch and check the time, without the claustrophobic sweaty feel of a wristwatch.

    And with that, the pickup pulled off to the side of the road, the tires making a crunching sound in the thick gravel.

    There it was, my clinic!  A nondescript building, boxy and white, it had an angled roof with solar panels on it, and louvered windows with screens.  Laura hopped out and offered me a hand down from the truck.  Looking around, I saw that a small crowd had gathered.  Laura spoke to the group in what sure sounded like fluent Marshallese, but of course I wouldn’t know. Finally she gestured to me and said “Your new nurse, Miss Beauchamp.”  I could see them mentally processing the name.  Finally a small voice piped up, “Welcome, Miss Peach-ay!” 

    Laura smiled.  “Guess I don’t have to wait to find out, Miss ‘Peach-ay’!”

    The crowd of men, women, and children gathered around the truck.  With much greater speed than we’d loaded, the boxes were whisked out of the truck and into the apartment or the clinic as Laura directed them.

     “House first, or clinic?” Laura asked.  She had just been surrounded by a crowd of kids, and I realized she had been handing out chewing gum to her eager fans.  “Bribery never hurts,” she grinned.  “I bought you some gum to share.”

     “Clinic, I think,” I responded.  “Seems more important.”

    Laura ushered me through the door into the clinic.  Only about 20 by 20 feet, it held one small hospital bed at the back of the room and an examination table, both with curtains that could be pulled around them.  There was a sink that had a pump handled faucet next to what looked like a kerosene stove.  A long counter with cupboards above and below was along one wall, and there was an old-school scale as well as an infant scale on a table next to it.  One locked cupboard stood on the far wall.  I assumed that contained most of the medicine, though we had brought a supply of new medications and bandages in three of the boxes we’d brought from Majuro.

     “So, no running water, and no hot water?” I double-checked, still a little amazed that there were places without running water in this day and age.  “Just the pump?”

     “And a big tea kettle and kerosene stove,” she said.  “I always try to keep some water hot or warm for washing boils or cuts, but it’s pretty quick to heat if you forget. They sell kerosene at Mr. Ogawa’s store.  Don’t forget to keep yourself stocked.  You’ve got solar powered lights, but they don’t last forever, so you’ve got kerosene lanterns for another source of light.”

    Looking around the room for anything else she’d forgotten, Laura showed me the calendar and schedule on the wall.  “First Monday of the month is Depo day.  Depo Provera shots for any women who are doing family planning.  Infant mortality is really high if they don’t wait long enough between pregnancies.  Second Monday is well child check-ups.  Third Monday is health day.  You’ll teach some sort of lesson on cleanliness, sanitation, or nutrition.  And the fourth Monday afternoon is teen time.  You can answer questions about safer sex, good dental health, things like that.”

     “How busy will I be?” I asked, feeling overwhelmed at the barrage of information.  It wasn’t like nursing was new to me, and I’d oriented on tons of different floors in hospitals.  With finishing the Nurse Practitioner program, I was more independent and comfortable assessing and treating a whole variety of illnesses.  It was just the combination of the heat, the humidity, the new environment, and the underlying sense that time was passing quickly, and that Laura would inevitably be leaving me. Alone.

     “Totally depends,” she said.  “Mondays are the busiest, of course.  And you’re “on” all the time, so be sure to leave a note on the door to let them know where to find you, but definitely make sure you relax.  Go snorkeling, learn to spearfish, visit families.  That’s probably where you’ll do the best community health.  Observe people in their environments and figure out which habits are causing poor health. And then, as they get to know and trust you, help them learn how best to improve their lives.”

    She passed the clinic keys off to me on a stretchy hot-pink curlicue cord to put around my wrist—a key for the medicine cabinet, and two keys for the door.  We locked the clinic door, and headed around the corner to the attached apartment.

    As I stepped in the door of my new residence, I was stunned.  This wasn’t a house or an apartment; this was a _cabin_.  A stark kitchen with open lower cabinets was to the right of the entrance.  A set of shelves to my left held a can of spinach and a tin of something.  Beyond the pantry, a little closet area consisted of a stark bar with some hangers on it and a mirror over a chest of drawers.  One twin bed and a bunkbed flanked the big window at the far end of the room floored with dark unvarnished wood.  Stunned as I was by how plain it was, I found myself drawn across the house to the window.  I turned the dusty louvers to get a better view, and as I stood there, I took a deep breath.  It was poster-worthy perfect.  White sand melted into aqua water that deepened into teal at the center of the lagoon.  Ghostly green bumps along the horizon showed where the other islands in the chain were across the lagoon.  And the sky was a heartbreaking blue beyond blue, filled with white clouds.

   

    “You will never find another place this beautiful,” Laura said quietly as she came to stand by me.  My nose was prickling and my eyes were watering.  “You’re going to be okay,” she said.  I turned to her and crumpled into a hug as she patted my back. 

    Laura helped me unpack the cans and plastic bins of food into the pantry, helped me hang up my sundresses and make my bed with clean sheets.  She showed me the well and demonstrated the best method for getting the tin bucket to fill with water; took me to see the little shower stall attached behind the apartment, open to the sky.  She took me to the outhouse, helping me use the bucket of water to flush the “real” toilet.  She showed me the short wave radio and wrote down the instructions for how to use it.  As we finished each task, I could feel the passage of time, and a sense of terror rising in my chest.  Finally, it could be avoided no longer.  A honk announced that Laura’s ride back to the airport had arrived. 

     “Tomorrow will be awesome,” she said.  “You’ll see all the little kids for well-child checkups, and the mamas will be sweet to you, even if they don’t speak a word of English.  Sharbella is supposed to show up at about 9…but realistically, she’ll be here at 10.  Island time, you know.”

    I walked Laura out to the truck and gave her a final hug.

     “If you’re dying for conversation in English, there are a few young guys teaching at the local school down the road that way,” Laura said, gesturing indistinctly down the road.  “They’re also in the Peace Corps, but they are…” she wrinkled her forehead, shook her head, and smiled.  “Well, I’ll let you decide how you feel about them.”

    She climbed into the passenger side, and the truck pulled away from the cabin, tires crunching in the gravel.  I waved goodbye to Laura, standing on the doorstep of the clinic.  And I spoke the words to myself again.

    What the _hell_ was I thinking?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kway´ zhuh tell´ n͂an yah´  
> **etch´-up (like ketchup, with no k) muh lah´ lay  
> ***ee roych´  
> ****yock´ way yook´--I love you!


	3. Tuck-In Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long walk home, and a goodnight hug.

**[Right Click "Open Link in New Tab" for Audio Version](https://s3-us-west-1.amazonaws.com/patreon-posts/HPgvTlEnMlMKPDX_Oa7xaK-bV6Wi3MRT6b9JzkvfPuKsOzUEXY7qwrGVwxZ0l77I.mp3) **

     His flip-flops and my sandals crunched on the gravel of the road.  It was dark.  There was no moon.  After the second time I accidentally bumped into him, Jamie put his arm around me and pulled me to his side.

      “Can I use ye as a crutch, then, Miss Beauchamp?” he asked.  I could feel him leaning some of his weight on me.

     I stopped.  “It’s Claire.  And Jamie, really, if you’re hurting you can go back.”

      “No, Claire, I can’t,” he said firmly.

      “Why?” I asked.

      “Did they not tell you about the sexual culture in the Marshall Islands?  I spent days in culture immersion when I first joined the corps.”

      “Well, I did have the stomach flu for three days,” I admitted.  “Right in the middle of training.  I might have missed something.”

     He gave a little grunt.

      “Are you okay?” I asked, wondering if he was in pain.

      “No,” he answered.  “I just don’t understand why they have a white girl out here all by herself.”

     I stopped short again.  “What?  Jamie, that is so sexist!” 

     Jamie pressed me forward with his hand on the small of my back.  “No, lass,” he said, “It’s _protective_.  Their culture isna the same as ours.”

      “But why would it be bad for a white woman to be by herself out here?” I asked.

      “They assume things about foreigners, particularly about Americans.  Their only exposure to American culture is through videos and dvds.  I’ve had students ask me, ‘In Amedka, do they kiss all day?’ ‘In Amedka, do they fight all day?’ because that’s what they see on screen.”

      “Why not just set them straight?” I asked.

      “Okay, some background here.  People in the Marshall Islands don’t show affection publicly.  Boyfriends and girlfriends, husbands and wives don’t walk around holding hands.  You might see boy students holding hands with their male friends, and girls with girls.  But they don’t hug, and they definitely don’t kiss in public, at all.”

      “So they’re overwhelmed by American PDA, then?” I asked, indignantly.

      “Yes.  And they make assumptions based on their own cultural background.  Like, if anyone were to see us right now, they would assume we were sexually involved.”

      “ _What?!!_ ” I again exclaimed indignantly.  “That’s ridiculous!”

      “In your opinion, but that’s the way it is here. If they see a boy and girl walking on the beach together, they will assume they are sleeping together as well.  So ye have to be careful what ye do.”

      “If that’s true, then why are you walking with me?  Won’t that make people assume things about _us_?”  Jamie was patting my shoulder, as if trying to calm me down.  I took a deep breath.  “Okay, explain away.  I’m the newbie in this culture, and I missed my cultural sensitivity training.  What don’t I know?”

      “Yes, the locals might see us and presume certain things. But my concern is more that they assume things about _women_ based on their choices.  And walking alone at night is not something ye are going to be able to do, wi’out having people think that yer a loose woman with loose morals.”

      “Okay, so I shouldn’t walk alone at night if I want to maintain my reputation.  But that’s the worst thing that could happen? A bad reputation?”

      “They are a gentle culture,” said Jamie.  “But there have been rapes in the past.  And they might not think of it as rape if you were walking alone at night. They will view your choices as deliberate attempts to seduce them.”

     Jamie couldn’t see my face, but I was furious.  “This is the thing they are fighting against so hard in America.  To make it clear to men that no means no, and that just because a woman is drunk or clothed in a sexy way, that it’s not permission to take advantage of them.”

      “I will tell you this now,” said Jamie soberly, “And I will probably have to tell you this again in the future.  You are _not_ in America.  Things are _different_ here.  And there may be some things that seem completely black and white to you back home, but here, they’re still gray.”

      “And are we supposed to just stand by and let this backwards culture stay backwards?”

      “Claire, not everything here is bad.  Not everything in America or Scotland is good.”

     I huffed in frustrated response.

      “For example, do you know what the Majol people call Americans?”  he asked.

      “No,” I retorted hotly.

      “Ri-palle,” he said.  “Do you know what it means?”

      “Of course not,” I said grumpily.

      “It means selfish white person, basically,” he said.  I tried to pull away from him, but he had enough weight resting on me that it was impossible.  “In your cultural training, did they mention that you should never compliment something when you are a visitor at someone’s home?”

      “No,” I said. “Why not? There’s nothing rude about that!”

      “Because in this culture, if you admire something, they will _give_ it you.  Just give it to you.  A compliment isn’t just a compliment.  They are generous to a fault, and if you like something of theirs, it’s yours.”

      “Well, that’s just _weird_ ,” I said.

      “To you,” he said.  “Not to them.  Ownership is much more fluid here.  I saw one colorful floppy sun hat travel from student to student in my class one week until every child had worn it.  I had _no_ _idea_ who owned it.”

      “That’s got to be terrible for keeping lice in check!” I said.

      “They don’t even try,” he responded, a smile in his voice.  “But after a while, you’re going to start to realize that in developed countries, we have way too much, and we’re not grateful for any of it.  And the simple things here are amazing.  Just remember that you’ve come here to help them, not completely change them.  Arno does not need to _be_ America.”

     We walked in silence, and slowly my resentment faded.

      “I don’t know why I’m mad at you, Jamie,” I said finally.  “You’re just being a gentleman.”

      “Dinna fash, lass,” he said.  “It’s yer second day here.  Of course you’re feeling overwhelmed.  I willna take anything you say personally right now.”

      “Well, how long have _you_ been here?” I asked.

      “Dougal is my uncle, and I came to Majuro from Scotland when I was 18.  I was getting in trouble back at home, ungrateful little wretch that I was, so they shipped me off to help me learn to be grateful for what I had.”

     “Did it work?” I asked, chuckling.

     Jamie gave a scoffing laugh.

      “And Arno, and teaching?”

      “Well, I finished my schooling at the College of the Marshall Islands on Majuro, and once I turned 21, I was old enough to officially join the Peace Corps.  This is my second year of teaching.”

      “So that makes you…”

      “Twenty-two,” he answered.  “How old are you?”

      “It’s not polite to ask a lady her age,” I said jokingly.  I could tell he was waiting, but I didn’t answer.

      “Now, ye said yer engaged,” he said.  “What’s yer bloke’s name?”

      “Frank,” I said.

      “And where is he?”

      “Back home, in Boston.”

      “And he doesna mind his fiancé being gone from him fer 18 months?”

      “Depends what you mean by ‘ _mind_ ,’” I said.  Wisely, Jamie stayed silent.

     The little solar powered external light of the clinic was ahead.  Jamie walked me the rest of the way to my apartment door, waited as I got my key out and unlocked it, and smiled as I headed inside.

      “Good night, Miss Peachay,” he said with a wink.

      “Goodnight, Bōrañañ,” I said.

     He looked at me, smiling in surprise.  “The _mamas_ call me that!  ‘Curly’, right?  How did ye know it?”

      “Riti helped me find the school,” I said.  “She said, Bōrañañ, Bujek, and Koolol were hungry boys!”

     His face brightened.  “She’s my favorite, that one.  So smart!”  Jamie turned back towards the school, wincing slightly.

      “You’re a gentleman, Jamie Fraser,” I said. “Goodnight.” I watched him as he walked away, until the darkness swallowed his muscular, skirted form.

     I entered my empty apartment and sighed. For just a little while, I had forgotten everything. For a moment, I hadn’t felt so horribly alone.

     I opened the louvers of the window that faced the iar, and looked out at the sliver of moon that was rising over the islands on the other side of the lagoon.  A slight breeze came in as I peeled off my clothes and pulled on a tank top and shorts for sleeping.  Once I was dressed, I flicked on the little lamp by my bed.  It didn’t seem to drain the solar batteries like the overhead lights did. 

     At first, I didn’t hear it.  The second time, I recognized the sound, a light tap on the door.

     I walked over to the door, and the taps came again.  “Claire? It’s just Jamie,” a voice said, muffled by the wood.

     I opened the door. Jamie stood outside, a sheepish smile on his face. He stood there for a moment, looking down at me. Then he said, “I had the feeling— _no worries, just send me away if I’m wrong_ —but I had the feeling that ye could use a hug goodnight.”

     My nose and eyes stung, and I could feel my eyes filling with salty tears. “Yes,” I said, stepping toward him.  I started crying as he pulled me to his chest, overwhelmed by the stress and the newness that had been weighing on me, the fear of being alone, and the gratitude for a real friend here.

     Jamie was warm, both solid and soft at the same time.  He encircled me with his arms and held me close.  I could hear his slow, steady heart under my ear.  For the first time since arriving, I felt myself release my breath fully.  I felt safe.

     It wasn’t a casual, keep-your-distance side hug, or an awkward A-frame barely-touching hug.  It was a warm, affectionate, friendly, full-body hug.  Like Frank giving me a hug when I’d had a bad day.

     I was still quietly crying when Jamie released me from the hug and led me over to my bed by the hand.  Were it not for our whole conversation, I might have been very wary.  But all he did was sit down, pull me onto his lap, and put his arms around me again, patting my back and murmuring in some strange foreign language— _is there such a language as Scottish?—_ while he held me.  “It’s okay, hen.  Dinna fash, mo chridhe.”

     When I had finally stopped weeping, he still held me.  “What is it that you’re grieving most?  Are ye missing yer Frank?”

      “I’m just…I’m scared.  I have never…lived _alone_ ,” I said.

      “Never?” he asked in surprise.

      “I’ve never even slept in a room by myself for more than a week.  When I was growing up, I shared a room with my sister.  In college, I always had a roommate, and then Frank and I moved in together.  I just feel so alone here.”

      “So, back in America, ye live with Frank?” he asked slowly.

      “Yeah,” I responded.

      “Ye arna married, though?”

      “No,” I responded defensively.  “But we’re _engaged_.”

      “Huh,” he grunted.  He looked at my cleavage, and then saw me looking at him looking at me and flushed in embarrassment.  “So that means ye…”

      “Sleep together?” I offered.  “Yes.  Kind of judgy, aren’t you?”

      “No,” he said, slowly shaking his head.  “Just _Catholic_.  I ken people live together nowadays.  Probably no so much in Scotland as in America.”

      “So, _Catholic_?” I asked.

      “Yes,” he said, “And if ye had grown up havin’ to confess to Father Bain, as I did, ye wouldna ever choose to live in sin.”

     I scoffed at his word choice, but he continued, confused.  “I just wonder, if Frank is used to living wi' ye, and _being_ wi’ ye, he canna be too happy to have ye leave him for 18 months, ye so bonny and…” he had been looking at my body again, and he looked away, blushing, as his voice trailed off.

     As Jamie spoke of living in sin, I had become increasingly aware that I was in a tank top and tiny shorts, and this young man wearing a sarong with nothing under it was having a distinct response to my nearness, state of undress, and the current topic of conversation.  I was feeling a little something myself, and being reminded of the prospect of spending eighteen months celibate had suddenly struck me with its full gravity.

     I got up off of his lap. “I think it’s time for you to go,” I said.

      “Aye,” Jamie responded, nodding, eyes wide, his hands resting on his lap.

     I stood there expectantly, and he flushed. 

      “I’m no trying to be disrespectful,” he said.  “And I _am_ going to go.  But I need a minute.”

     I looked at him, and suddenly burst out with a hiccupy laugh.

      “What?” he asked, looking slightly offended.

      “I’m sorry,” I said.  “I just thought of a joke.”

      “Aye?” he asked.

      “It’s a pun," I said apologetically.

      “I know what those are,” he said.  “Are ye going to tell me?”

      I smiled, and shook my head.  “I’m sorry.  It’s silly.  It’s late.  I’m tired.”

      “I can take a wee joke,” he said, one side of his lips rising in a lopsided grin.  “Even if it’s at my expense.”

     I smiled, and pointed at the sarong around his hips.

      “I was just going to say, I think it’s **_sarong_** time to be wearing that.” I grinned.

     He stared at me, then looked down at himself.  Then as the light dawned on him, he shook his head and chuckled.

      “Ye are a cheeky one, aren’t ye?”  He finally stood and drew me in for a final hug, resting his chin on my head.

      “Thing I miss more than anything leaving Scotland?” he said.  “Hugging my sister Jenny.  She’s just your height.  Wee, and feisty like ye, too.”

      “Well, we may just have to be hug buddies, then,” I said.  “We’ll just have to keep it in private.” I squeezed him, and then let go.

      “Thank you so much, Jamie,” I said, as I saw him off at the door.  “I really needed a friend here.”

     I locked the door, turned off the light, curled up in my bed, and slept.

 


	4. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire's never been very good at being alone.

**[Right Click and "Open Link in New Tab" for Audio Version](https://s3-us-west-1.amazonaws.com/patreon-posts/QkLS7ui5U_jgsbErTtKgIneyrRDnk_c-NEIeP_i1o22h3rGdGgPw8pv03LW_LhAn.mp3) **   


     “SSSSsssshit, that’s cold!”  I swore out loud as the frigid water splashed on my shoulders and streamed down my body.

      “Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.” I chanted, as I wrapped my towel around myself, grabbed my sundress off the hook, shoved my feet into my flip-flops, exited the little outdoor shower stall, and ran back into my apartment.

     I hadn’t thought I’d ever be cold again after the first sweltering day on Arno, after I’d sweated through the day and kept sweating through the windless night.  I was obviously wrong.

     I filled my cooking pot full of water and after two tries got the kerosene stove to light.  Now what?  I wasn’t going to be pouring cold water over myself, so I needed to wait for it to boil.  Standing there with my towel draped around me, I was freezing and feeling incredibly sorry for myself.  I’d already taken the 5 gallon bucket to the well this morning and spent a good half hour trying to fill it.  Laura had said that the pump water in the clinic was from the catchment, which collected a limited supply of fresh rain water, only for drinking,.  For washing, I needed to be using the well water.

     Laura had showed me the technique to flick my wrist as I lowered the rope in the well so the coffee can “bucket” would turn on its side, sink, and fill completely with water, but I was terrible at it.  I kept banging the bucket against the stone wall of the well, which was only succeeding in slowly crushing the can so it would actually hold less water.

     I’d finally filled the bucket and then wrestled the forty pound weight across the yard into my shower stall.  I’d gotten undressed, trying to hang up my towel and the little sundress I had thrown on for coming outside, and then I’d grabbed the plastic bowl Laura said was to be used as a dipper and dumped the first bowl-ful of water over myself. 

     Laura had told me I could always boil some water to add to the cold well water.  I hadn’t thought I’d need that luxury since it was so hot on Arno.  _I was wrong,_ I told myself, _I totally need it_.

     I could see a hint of pink in the sky over the lagoon, so I dropped my towel, pulled the dress back on, and headed outside to watch the sun rise.  Certainly more beautiful than watching a pot boil, I told myself. 

     I strolled across the yard, approaching the beach.  I’d come out here last night, when the tide was high.  Now the tide was low, and the sand was pinkish white in the faint light of sunrise.  Streaks of crimson, fuschia, tangerine, and poppy filled the sky, radiating up from the horizon behind the islands on the other side of the atoll, which somehow looked closer now.  In places I could actually see the shapes of coconut palm trees.

     It was beautiful, and then I looked off to my left.  There was a dark blob on the beach a quarter mile or so away.  The dark blob lengthened, and then walked back up off the beach.  I glanced to my right and saw another dark blob in the distance, low to the sand, which then stood up and walked off the beach.  I suddenly felt like I was intruding.  I turned around and headed back to the cabin.  _It was probably one of the most scenic places for a morning potty break I’d ever seen_ , I thought.

     I took the now boiling pot of water out to the shower stall, poured it into my bucket, took the pot back to the house, grabbed my towel, and tried again.

     This time the water was lukewarm but not unpleasant, and I gratefully rinsed the salty sweat from my body and hair before drying off and going inside to get dressed. 

     I made myself some instant oatmeal and powdered coffee, a disgusting and dissatisfying breakfast, and got ready to head to the clinic for my first day. 

      “Deoderant!”  I exclaimed.  I went over to the bunkbed and pulled out the big box I’d used for storing my extra toiletries.  I’d bought enough for six months, even though I could probably get back to Majuro once or twice before then.  “Deodorant…deodorant…deodorant…”  I shoved different items aside until I found a three-pack of deodorant, cut the plastic wrapping, dropped the two spares back into the box, and shoved the box back against the wall.  I wouldn’t be smelly for my first day of work.

 

     She had a sweet little name, “Sharbella,” so I guess that’s what I had expected.  Instead my translator was wide and solid, middle-aged, and mannish.  But she spoke English and fluent Marshallese, so that made her the most beautiful person I’d met on Arno thus far.

      “Nice to meet you, Claire,” she said, as we entered the clinic.  She’d brought out the white board and marker for the women to sign up for appointments, and she knew where Laura had kept the well-child records, so she assembled the binders, ready to fill with the newest figures.

     I took a deep breath, went to the door, and slaughtered whatever name had been written first.  “Plu-Rose and Si-na-na?”  I said. 

     When I’d poked my head out, I’d been greeted with a chorus of, “Good mo-ning, Miss Peachay!” The women, sitting with their babies in the grass in front of the clinic, smiled and laughed at my pronunciation.

     Sinana was a beautiful little 11 month old with brown eyes, wispy black hair, and a beautiful smile.  She had several large circular bumps on her forehead, a centimeter or more in height. From the appearance and feel of the skin they seemed to be boils, but boils are often infected hair follicles and there was no obvious point of infection.  I cleaned the skin with a warm salt compress, showing Plurose how to repeat the procedure at home, and gave her some topical antiseptic to use for cleaning Sinana’s skin for the next few days.

     We weighed the little girl, measured her length and head circumference, and sent our first patient on her way.

     When the second and third babies also had boils on their heads, I turned to Sharbella.

      “Why do all the babies have boils?” I asked.

      “Nutrition, and hygiene possibly?  There aren’t a lot of fresh fruits and vegetables available out here.  Bananas, papayas, breadfruit, sometimes limes, but not all the time.  They don’t wash their babies very often.  And the babies can get mosquito bites, and then scratch their heads.  It’s very common here, and not only for babies.  If you look at the children’s legs, you will often see scars from boils.  You have to make sure to wash with soap, and scrub your legs and arms with…like a sponge?”

      “A loofah?” I asked.

      “Yes,” Sharbella answered.

     The rest of the morning was a flurry of names and faces, adorable dark-haired babies and toddlers and beautiful mothers.  Many of the women wore brightly colored polyester dresses with elasticized necklines.  When they fed their babies, they just popped their whole boob out of the neck of their dress and kept on doing whatever they were doing, talking and laughing with their friends.  No surreptitious covering of the baby and breast, no shuffling with nursing bras and cover-ups.  Men and children walked by, and no one gave the nursing mom a second glance.  It was refreshing and disconcerting at the same time.

     When the last child had been weighed and measured and the record books put away, Sharbella stood and walked off heavily down the road.  “See you tomorrow,” she had said. 

     She left, and I was again alone.

 

     After Laura had left the previous afternoon, I’d stood in bewildered paralysis in the center of my apartment for a full five minutes.  And then I’d sprung into action.  Before leaving for Majuro Laura had set off a bug bomb, _to try to cut back on the number of cockroaches_ , she told me.  But that meant that all the dishes stored in the open-air cupboard were misted with toxic dust.  I started a pot of water so I would be able to wash the dishes.

     While the water was heating, I unpacked one of my boxes.  Pictures first.  One of Frank in his leather jacket and aviators in front of his 65 Mustang went on top of the dresser, one of us together right after he asked me to marry him, me pointing delightedly at my ring.  One of us cuddled up on the couch at my parents’ house at Christmas.  One of us together in Hawaii, me in a bikini, Frank in low-slung swimming trunks with his hands on my hips.  Looking at the picture, the way dark hair descended from his navel, I felt a pang of unfulfilled desire.  _Suck it up, buttercup_ , I said to myself.  _You chose this_.

     The stationery supplies went on the desk.  I had stuck in a little lamp, so that went by my bed.  A row of books would be my nighttime entertainment.  I’d also brought along a box of medical resource books, but those were already in the clinic.

     After washing the dishes, I looked through another box.  Multiple bottles of shampoo and conditioner, eight boxes of tampons, boxes of soap, laundry detergent, dish soap, and mosquito spray. 

     _Ah ha!_   I interrupted what I was doing to take the can outside and spray myself.   In a few places the screens on the windows were torn, and I was continuing to get bitten.

      “Tastes like evil Christmas,” I muttered to myself as I accidentally got some of the “Back Woods” scented spray in my mouth.

     When I looked up from violently spitting on the ground, I noticed a little girl watching me from the road.  She grinned, then covered her face, slowly peeking out from behind her fingers.  Finally she seemed brave enough to approach.

      “What’s you name? What’s you name? What’s you name?” She asked, three times in a row.

      “My name is Miss Beauchamp,” I responded.

      “Hi, Miss Peachay!” she said.

      “What’s your name?” I asked her.

     She pointed at herself.  “Kay-tee,” she said.

      “Oh, Katie.  Nice to meet you.”  I stuck my right hand out to shake hands, and she grabbed it with her left hand and swung it back and forth a few times, then dropped it. 

     She asked me a few questions in Marshallese, but when I couldn’t answer her, she waved and meandered off.  I thought she might be around four or five years old, walking down the road, without a parent in sight.

     Back inside, a steaming pot of water was next on the agenda.  As I washed, rinsed, dried, and put away, my mind started wandering. 

 

     Seeing Frank’s picture had brought one of our final conversations to mind.  We were in our bedroom, and I was packing.

      “Do you expect me to be celibate for 18 months?”  Frank’s tone was irritated and even slightly bitter.  “I have never had the goal of practicing celibacy for a couple years when I turned 31. I certainly didn’t choose the life of a priest, Claire.”

      “Well, you didn’t choose the life of a married man, either,” I said, instantly regretting the words as they came out.

      “Oh, so this is punishment, is it?  Because we never set a date?  Because we never signed a piece of paper, and you never wore a puffy white dress?”  Frank stared at me as I came out of the walk-in closet with an armload of sundresses.

      “I’m not trying to punish you, Frank.  I just realized that if I don’t do this now, I probably never will! And yeah, if we _were_ married, I might _not_ be doing it.  But I know we’re going to get married and have kids.  And then after they’ve been with us for 18 to 20 years and move out, we will be so settled in our lives that the thought of adventure and service will have faded from my memory.”

     Frank sighed.  He’d heard this before.  “I repeat,” he said.  “Do you expect me to remain celibate?”

     I stared at him.  “Well, don’t you expect _me_ to be faithful?”

     He narrowed his eyes.  “I don’t think you _can_.”

      “Now, what is that supposed to mean?” I asked indignantly, haphazardly flopping clothes into my suitcase.

      “Which one of us is it who can’t seem to go longer than three or four days without sex?” he asked.  “Which one of us is more likely to initiate sex?”

      “I’m just an affectionate person,” I said, tugging on the zipper of the suitcase.  “You’re lucky I like to make you feel good, that you don’t have to hunt me down, that I rarely reject you, and if I do, I make up for it.  You don’t seem to complain about it most of the time.”

      “Hmmm,” Frank said, looking thoughtful.  “I’m pretty sure you initiate for yourself, not just for my sake.  You are too sexual for celibacy.  I give you a month; and then you’re going to find some dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-skinned island man that you’re dying to take to bed.  And he’ll take you up on it, too.”

     I stood there, dumbstruck, staring at him.  What was I supposed to say in response?

      “Just be sure to use protection,” Frank said, threateningly.  “We’re getting tested when you come back, and I’m not sleeping with you unless you’re clean.”

     I glared at him, horrified.  “Do you really think so little of me?  That I don’t love you enough to be faithful?”

      “For eighteen days, maybe,” Frank said quietly, looking down at the quilt on our bed.  “Maybe for eighteen weeks.  But for eighteen months, Claire, I don’t think so.  And if you’re not going to be celibate, I don’t want to be, either.”

      “I think you’re wrong,” I said.  “But, let’s just promise to be honest with each other.  If we sleep with someone, we say so the next time we write.  No details, just the word _sex_ , or _not celibate_.  I can write, “You were right.”  You can write, “Fuck you, Beauchamp.”

     I had started crying then, and Frank had come to me and put his arms around me.  He was too angry to take me to bed then, though I wanted him to, to show me that he forgave me, that he wanted me, that he trusted me; but later that night we made love with an earnest urgency that we hadn’t had since our first year together.

     It was going to be fine, I knew it.  He was definitely wrong. I would keep my distance from the locals.  I would befriend women and children, and I would stay away from any man 18 or older, except in social situations.  I would remember that I was planning to go back home, that I was engaged to marry Frank Randall.  That I loved him, and that he loved me, and that we were going to be together forever.

     Still, as I finished up my packing in Majuro, I had packed one more thing—a small shiny black cardboard carton, now tucked into the box of toiletries, concealed behind the tampons and deodorant.

 

Warning--the second picture of little baby "Sinana" is a little disturbing. Adorable girl, though!

  



	5. Pain in the Arse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire's lonely, so she takes some dinner to the boys, meets some island kids on the way, and loses a battle of wills with Jamie.

**[Right Click, "Open in New Tab" for Audio Version](https://s3-us-west-1.amazonaws.com/patreon-posts/ttbvvI33Rkb5lgsEJCDOw1c7QOLjXKOeZVQHapSbXfkotEAGKX2F3GQxI-DRzA4d.mp3) **

      I began to wonder how my patient was doing as supper time approached.  Well, that wasn’t exactly true.  It was kind of a bummer to eat alone all the time, and I was feeling lonely my second night on the island.  I eyed my pantry.  I couldn’t afford to feed other people all the time, but just once shouldn’t hurt.  I grabbed three cans of chili and a bag of Fritos, and then I took four of my precious apples and put them in my shoulder bag along with fresh bandages, antibiotic ointment, and Jamie’s mended shorts.  I threw in my flashlight in case I stayed past dark.  As obnoxious as Jamie’s coworkers had been, they were really harmless, and I just needed to be around people.

      I felt jittery as I walked down the road.  These boys weren’t expecting some 27 year old to come hang out with them at their house.  _Calm down_ , I told myself.  _They’re boys, and you’re bringing food_.  I chuckled, remembering Laura’s words.  “Bribery never hurts,” she had said.  Of course, she was referring to the island children; I’d see if it worked with the island Scots as well.

      A few of the kids came running out of their houses and stared at me as I walked by.  Oh, that _was_ the one other word I learned—“Iokwe!”—Hello!  I waved at the adorable little kids and called to them.  Several covered their faces and giggled, but others were braver and called out, “Iokwe, Miss Peachay!”

      As I continued to walk, I realized I was being followed—by a herd of little children.  They trailed behind me, not close enough to engage, but obviously interested in what I was doing and where I was going. 

      Then one little girl, probably 10 or 11 years old, came shyly up to walk by me. 

       “You go see Mister Shamie? He is hurt?” she asked, trying out her English on me.

       “Yes!”  I said.  “I will check his bandages.  And I brought him food.”  I opened my bag to show her the cans.

       “Is good,” she smiled.  “Bōrañañ, Bujek and Koolol are very hungry boys.”

       “Bo rawn yawn?” I asked, curiously.

       “Um,” she giggled.  “The mamas name them because—their hair.  Bōrañañ is mean curly hair.  That is Mister Shamie.  Bujek means…” she wrinkled her forehead, then decided to show me what she meant, pulling her hair up and twisting it on top of her head.

       “ _Oh_ ,” I said, “A bun.  Like Mr. Angus.”

       “Yes,” she said, happy I had understood her.  “Mister Angoose is Bujek.”

       “What was the last one?” I asked. “What do you call Mr. Rupert?”

       “Koolol,” she responded.  “Is mean very messy.  And very hairy.” She messed up her hair with her hands and smiled when I laughed.

       “And what is _your_ name?” I asked her.  “Your English is very good.”

       “Riti,” she said, smiling shyly.  “Riti Botla.”

      I had been anxious to visit my young Scottish neighbors just for some English conversation, but quickly decided I had found another person I could talk to.  Riti was in the 4th grade, she said.  And Mr. Jamie was her teacher.  She walked me all the way to the school and showed me around the side of the building to the guys’ apartment.  Then she waved, and headed back down the road.

      Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. 

       “What?” a grumpy voice called out.  “We’re off duty.”

       “Ye better not be running away after knocking, ye wee urchins,” came a second gruff voice.  Footsteps came closer, and then Rupert threw the door open so quickly it startled me.

       “Oh, it’s you!” he said.  “Have ye come to check on yer patient, then?”  He turned and called out, “Jamie, the nurse is here to look at yer arse.”  He turned back to me with a mocking smile.  “He’s in the back bedroom.  Can’t handle sitting at the moment, exactly.”

      He headed across the room to the couch, leaving the door open, so I came inside and shut the door. 

       “I didn’t come to look at Jamie’s arse,” I retorted.  “I brought supper, if you want it.”

       “Supper?”  Angus’s head peeked around the corner, and Rupert was back next to me in a flash. 

       “Food?” he exclaimed.  “Why didn’t ye say so in the first place?  You wouldn’t have brought us potatoes, would you?”

       “Not this time,” I said.  “But have you ever had chili and chips?”

      Angus ushered me into their kitchen and happily provided me with a pan, a can opener, and his rapt attention as I heated up the chili, dished it into four bowls, and sprinkled the corn chips over the top.  While Angus and Rupert eyed the steaming bowls skeptically, when I handed them each an apple to go along with it, they grabbed spoons, took their bowls to the table and hungrily dug in. 

       “Which room?” I asked, figuring I should check in with my patient, who wasn’t appearing. 

      I knocked gently.  “Come,” said a husky voice.  I opened the door, to find Jamie lying on his bed on his left side, still wearing the blue sarong, reading.

       “It looks nice on you,” I said, gesturing toward the sarong.  “How are you feeling?”

       “I’ve been better,” he said, looking up from his book.  He grinned.  “But I’m young.  I’ll heal.”

       “Have you taken any more Advil or Tylenol?” I asked. He shook his head.

       “Hungry?” I asked.  “Advil is better on your stomach if you eat first.”

       “Did I hear you brought us food?” he asked.  Jamie gingerly sat up and put his pillow behind his back. “Angus and Rupert are pains in the arse.  Ye didn’t have to feed us, ye ken.” He was smiling, though.

       “I wanted to,” I said, sitting down on the edge of the bed with my bowl as I handed him his.

      Jamie crunched on a bite of the warm chili topped with corn chips.  “Yummm,” he groaned.  “Salty.  This something Americans eat?  It’s no bad!”

       “My family does it with lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and Ranch dressing on top,” I explained.  “We call it taco salad, an import from Mexico, sort of.  Not having any of the fresh stuff, this was all I could offer.”

       “Mmmm,” he said.  “Lettuce.  Cheese.  Tomahtoes.”  His British pronunciation of the word tomatoes made me laugh.  “Ye start to miss a refrigerator after a time out here.”

      Rupert came to the door.  “Jamie, are ye going to be selfish with our guest, here?  First white woman we’ve seen in months and ye keep her to yourself, of course.”

      Jamie rolled his eyes at Rupert.  “I can come out.  Sitting isna as bad as I thought it would be.” He moved to stand up, and I took his bowl from him so he had use of both his hands.

       “While I’m here,” I said, “I did think I’d have a look at it, just to see how the incision site and stitches are doing and to put a new bandage on.  It was pretty deep in some places, and I tried to flush out any bacteria, but not having running water, I’m nervous about sanitation out here.”

       “See, I told ye she was here to look at yer arse,” Rupert laughed, taking the bowls from me.  “See ye in a few, but I’m coming back if you stay here too long.  Honor of a lady, and all that.” He closed the door.

       “Rupert, ye numpty,” Jamie called after him, then turned to me, somewhat on edge.  “Ye want me to drop my sarong?”

       “ _Your_ sarong?” I asked, indignantly. “Are you stealing it?”

      The joke set him at ease, but he was blushing profusely.

       “No,” I said.  “I thought if you loosened the right side of the sarong and lay down on your stomach, I can have a look and keep you decent at the same time.”

      He followed my directions and only squirmed and grunted a little when I removed the original bandage.  I looked at the incision site, cleaned it slightly, applied some antibacterial ointment and a new bandage.  “So far, it looks good,” I said, standing up.  He gently rolled off the bed and stood, and with his back to me, tucked the sarong back in at the waist again, and then turned back to me.

     “The edges of the wound are all securely touching, and it looks like it’s not leaking fluid.  We will just have to keep an eye on it for the next few days particularly.  I have no idea what might have stayed under your skin.  If you start to have a fever, then I’ll need to give you a course of antibiotics to help fight off any infection.”

      I watched his gait as he walked out to the front room.  He looked sore, but seemed to be able to put equal pressure on each leg.  I grabbed an extra pillow from his bed, and then helped him arrange it underneath him so there was less pressure on his right side as he sat.

      Once we were all settled on the two couches finishing up our dinners, Rupert and Angus looked at me expectantly.

       “So,” Angus said, taking a big bite of his apple.  “Is he going to be able to keep his arse?”

       “Wheesht,” hissed Jamie, “I’m going to be fine.”

       “A day earlier, though,” Rupert offered, “With Miss Leenchah on Majuro, you would have been out of luck.  They probably would have had to _amputate_.”  He grinned at Jamie, and then smiled at me.  Rupert was a big guy, a little shorter and huskier than Jamie.  Though his hair was slightly messy and it seemed as if his personal hygiene habits left a little to be desired, I liked his dry sense of humor.

       “Is there no one else here who has any medical skill?” I asked.  “That’s a lot of pressure on me!”

       “Not really,” said Jamie.  “If ye hadna been able to help me, I might have had to use duct tape.”  I looked at his face to see if he was joking, but he seemed entirely serious.

      I shuddered at the thought.  “Well, fortunately, you didn’t, and I think it’s going to heal up very nicely.  I’m pretty good with a needle.”  Thinking of that made me remember Jamie’s shorts.  I hopped up and went to my bag, coming back with the neatly mended pair of board shorts, as well as a cup of water and a couple of pain reliever pills.

       “Wow, thanks!” Jamie said, inspecting the shorts after swallowing the pills.  “Ye not only saved them, ye fixed them, too.”

      The three boys grinned and stared at me as I sat back down.

       “You are making me _very_ nervous,” I said to them.  “Why are you staring at me?”  They looked back and forth at each other, as if they were waiting for one of them to talk.

       “Well, Miss Lynch was nice,” Jamie said, grinning.  “But she wasna as young and bonny as you.” He looked down in embarrassment as Rupert and Angus continued to grin at me.

       “ _Young?_ ” I scoffed.  Laura was probably 35, but at 27, I would definitely not call myself young.  “And _bonny_?  I saw probably 10 of the most beautiful women I’ve _ever_ seen in my life today.  And not _all_ of them had babies,” I laughed, remembering the circumstances under which I’d seen them at the well-child checkups.

       “Yeah, there are lots of bonny island girls here,” said Angus.  “But Uncle Dougal has threatened us with death if we touch any of them.”

       “And just with _neutering_ if we impregnate any of them,” added Rupert.

       “ _Uncle Dougal?_ ”  I asked, incredulous.  “Mr. MacKenzie is your uncle?”  Dougal MacKenzie was the head of the Peace Corps in the Marshall Islands, who was based in Majuro.  I’d met the gruff, slightly fierce looking middle-aged man at the airport when I arrived in Majuro.  Bald and bearded with bushy eyebrows, Mr. MacKenzie intimidated me from the beginning.  He rarely smiled.  I could see how even at a great distance, fearing his wrath could encourage better behavior among the Peace Corps volunteers.

       “Well,” I said, flashing my engagement ring.  “I hope you don’t think that just because there’s a white girl on the island that you’re in any less danger from your uncle.  I don’t think my fiancé would like it if I got impregnated here.” 

      It was a joke, but Jamie looked at me, stunned.  I could tell he wanted to ask me something, but he stayed quiet.  Angus and Rupert exchanged disappointed glances.

       “Ah, well,” said Rupert, slouching down in his seat.  “So, what do ye think of Arno?”

       “It’s beautiful,” I answered, taken aback by the sudden attention.  “I’ve only been here a day, so I’m a little overwhelmed still.  You’ve been here since the beginning of the school year at least.  What do _you_ think about island living?”

      Rupert and Angus looked at each other giddily, and then launched into what was obviously a well-rehearsed riff.

       “Well,” said Rupert, “there Arno electric lights here.”

       “And,” added Angus, “there Arno running water faucets.”

       “Unfortunately,” Rupert mused, “there Arno flushing toilets.”

       “And it’s kind of sad that there Arno refrigerators.” Angus concluded.

      They laughed, but I shook my head, wide-eyed at them.  “How do you survive without a refrigerator?  There’s no such thing as leftovers, I guess.”

     “Yeah,” said Jamie.  “If you make it, ye eat it then, or throw it away.  Get food poisoning once or twice, and ye learn not to eat things that have been sitting too long.” 

     “Well,” I said.  “This is all taking some getting used to.  It’s like stepping back in time to the days of the settlers, or the Wild West.”

       “Settlers?” Rupert asked, wrinkling his forehead.

       “Oh, that’s right, she’s _American,”_ said Angus.

       “You say that like it’s a dirty word,” I said to them curiously.  “I’ve always thought good things about Scotland. Why would you hate America?”

       “Says the woman whose country actually _succeeded_ in winning their independence from Britain in the 1700s,” said Rupert.

       “Aye,” said Jamie.  “Yer minutemen and militia fought loud and fierce, exactly like the Highland army.  _You_ just happened to have enough trees and forests for cover.  Ambush doesna work on a wide, flat field.”

      I looked beyond Jamie and saw that the sun had gone down and it was dark outside.

       “Well, gents,” I said, standing up.  “I should probably be getting back to my shack.”

       “Thanks fer dinner,” said Angus, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

       “Yes, lass, thanks,” said Rupert, lounging in a similarly relaxed fashion.

      Jamie was looking from one of them to the other with an irritated look on his face. 

      I shook my head, gathered up my bag, and headed to the door.  I heard a few noises, whispering, and rustling behind me, but figured it was nothing.  I was about to close the door behind me when a hand stopped it.  It was Jamie.  He had on flip-flops, and as I stepped away from their doorstep, he came outside with me.

       “What are you doing?” I asked.

       “I’m walking you home,” he said.  “Rupert and Angus are lazy arses.”

      I shook my head.  “You can’t do that.  You have a huge wound and lost a good amount of blood today.  I’m fine.  I’ve got a flashlight.  It’s not that far for me to walk, but you should definitely not be walking two miles with a recent injury!”

       “Ah, lass, ye stitched me up fine,” he said, taking a few more slow steps forward.

       “I can’t let you do that,” I said, standing firmly in place as he took another step forward toward me.  “This is chivalrous of you, but I am your medical provider, and I cannot allow it.”

       “And I appreciate yer concern for me,” Jamie said, equally tenaciously.  “But I know this place.  There are different cultural mores here.  And a lass walkin’ by herself at night, now, that’s just asking fer trouble.  I _canna_ let you go home alone.”

      We stood, facing each other stubbornly.  Then Jamie walked toward me, passed me on the sidewalk, and kept going, calling over his shoulder.  “Well, ye dinna have to walk _with_ me, but I feel like taking a wee walk in the night air.  I think I might go so far as the clinic.”

       “You are an _ass_ ,” I said finally, “And it’s _your_ ass that is going to hurt tomorrow, you dimwit.”

      Jamie’s laughter traveled back toward me through the darkness, and I hurried to catch up.

You know, just because. . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two resources I should give credit to for today's chapter:  
> http://marshallese.org/, which has given me an amazing refresher on the Majol language, (and the correct spellings, after 23 years of thinking iiokwe was spelled yokwe). I never knew any guys nicknamed Bōrañañ, Bujek and Koolol, but I thought that was pretty hilarious when I came up with it.  
> and  
> Wikipedia's entry on Scottish slang and jargon. That's a fun one. :) https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/Appendix:Glossary_of_Scottish_slang_and_jargon


	6. Night Noises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nights on Arno are really quiet. Until they aren't.

     At night in Boston, the sounds we would hear were city sounds: cars and buses, sirens, machinery, and music.  And when he was asleep, but I wasn’t, I would hear Frank’s gentle snore.

      Frank and I still lived in the townhouse we had been able to afford on his teaching salary.  Though we now made more as nurse practitioner and professor than nurse and adjunct, we had worked to pay off school loans, assuming when we married, we’d permanently commit to a home as well as each other. 

     It wasn’t an expensive townhouse, and yet it effectively muffled those city sounds with double-paned vinyl windows, venetian blinds and drapes, carpeting to curb echoes, and always a fan or white noise machine to cover up the sound remnants that made it through. 

     There was no such barrier on Arno. For one thing, the only source of cooling was the breeze off the iar, so the louvered windows were opened, especially at night, to let the air in. Even when closed, louvers did little to block sound.  

     The first night as I lay in bed, I was struck by the eerie lack of the sounds of civilization.  No cars or public transportation, no music, save for the random child carrying a guitar down the road, nothing in the house powered by electricity—no refrigerator humming, no fan, no pumps or toilets running.  In the silence I started to hear other, softer sounds: the lap of small waves on the lagoon shore, palm and pandanus branches rustled by the wind, the low murmur of my nearest neighbors talking.

     My brain worked to catalogue unfamiliar sounds: the high-pitched whine of a mosquito buzzing around my ears, the random crack and creak of my unfamiliar apartment. 

     One strange sound I could not place, though.  It sounded the the chirp of a small bird, and it was coming from the rafters above my bed.  From a similar location, I heard a strange slapping.   It seemed to follow a pattern: Chirp, chirp, cheep, cheep, slap-slap-slap-slap-slap.  

     Finally, my curiosity piqued, I went and turned on the light. It didn’t illuminate the rafters entirely, so I added the beam of my flashlight. When I found the source of the noise, I laughed.  Two huge amber-colored lizards were mating on my rafter.  They would chirp and cheep, sweet talking each other, and then the slapping was caused by their tails beating against the metal roof as they lost themselves in the throes of gecko passion.   

     I turned off the lights, reassuring myself that while they might drop little offerings of poop down (so that’s what I’d found on the table at supper time!) at least they'd be up there catching mosquitoes. 

 

     It had gotten easier to fall asleep in the past week.  The sounds were becoming familiar, and the lapping ocean waves were the best white noise machine I’d ever had.

     I was currently lying in bed trying to think through the events of the past six days. I had flown out with Laura on Sunday, moving my stuff into the apartment and clinic, watching Laura leave, and then cleaning and unpacking.  

     On Monday, I had met Sharbella and done well-child checkups in the morning. In the afternoon I’d had my first emergency case when Jamie had arrived with his corrugated tin boat wound.

     The following night, Tuesday, I had taken food to the Peace Corps boys at the Ine school.  Jamie had walked me home, and I’d made my first friend out here.

     On Wednesday, I had focused on re-organizing and familiarizing myself with everything in the clinic. I spent some time sanitizing the surfaces, and then read up on tropical climate skin ailments and treatments.  That was most of what I saw: people dealing with rashes, boils, burns, cuts and scrapes; and I also noticed that some wounds developed keloid scars, particularly on patients with darker skin.  What I discovered from my research was that while keeping wounds moist in other climates can aid in healing, the level of humidity and the varieties of bacteria in the tropics can actually impede healing.  The general consensus was that you should use an antiseptic, and then something to block bacteria from entering the wound.

     I had stitched up the hand of one man who cut himself with his machete attempting to split coconuts. Sharbella had explained that the one cash crop in Arno was copra—the smoked meat of coconuts, which was processed and made into coconut oil for suntan lotion, shampoo, and other toiletries. The men would pick the coconuts, strip off the husks, split the shells by holding them in one hand and giving them a sharp blow with the blade of their machetes, and then stacking them on the smoking trays.  This man had gotten distracted, the blade had slipped, and he had a deep cut in the pad of his thumb.

     On Thursday Plu Rose had brought Sinana back because the boil had come to a head from the daily salt compresses. I lanced the boil as close to her hairline as possible, drained it, and then applied a sterile dressing with a warning not get it dirty or wet.

     Jamie had also stopped in on Thursday for a new bandage. He had worried that the wound was seeping clear fluid and wanted to make sure it wasn’t infected.  The wound seemed to be progressing nicely, but Jamie was a little bummed to be banned from swimming for another three days.

     But now it was finally Friday night, and after an exhausting week, I was looking forward to not having clinic hours on Saturday—of being able to sleep in, explore the island, brainstorm some better meals, and possibly do my laundry. I was feeling a little anxious about that process, having never done laundry completely by hand before.  I had the big round red tub, the washboard, and the scrub brush, plus a laundry line and clothes pins for drying everything.  I would need to draw water from the well, and then it would just be an investment of time.

     I had fallen into bed mentally and physically exhausted, with the sweet sense of anticipation knowing I would get rest and relaxation the next day.  I was almost asleep when I heard a new sound, one that instantly made my heart rate increase and my muscles tense. Outside the window right next to my bed I heard quiet footfalls and a rustling sound. 

     And then I heard singing.  Sort of.  It was a tune so distinct, I could plunk it out on a piano if I needed to.  It was in a sweet voice, singing a sweet tune, but it made me feel more like I was hearing the haunting little kid voice singing a nursery rhyme in a horror movie trailer.

     “Miss Peachay, I want to talk to you,” sang a heavily accented male voice.  “Miss Peachay, I want to talk to you...”   I froze in my bed, the throb of panic in my chest, breathing shallowly.

     A voice came closer, nearly in my ear, just speaking this time, softly, enticingly.  “Miss Peachay, do you want to go to shungle with me?”

     Go?  To the jungle?  I lay in my bed, petrified.  

     “Miss Peachay! Que lukuun likatu!”

     “Miss Peachay! Que konaan bwebwenato?”

     My troubadour began serenading me again.  “Miss Peachay, I want to talk to you…Miss Peachay, I want to talk to you.”

      I didn’t want to say anything.  What could I say?  Go away?  I don’t want to go to the jungle with you?

     I was about to announce that I had no intention of talking to them or going to the ‘shungle’ with them when I heard another voice.  A deep, resonant Scottish brogue, hearty, confident, and calm, speaking fluent Marshallese.

      “Enana kaiṇṇe, Abner.  Miss Peachay ejab kōṇaan etal ippām.  Ta ṇe kwōj jerbale, Samson?  Quejjooko ñe ej kadek.”

     The other men answered, talking back and forth.  I heard all of the voices retreating, traveling farther and farther down the road toward the Peace Corps school, and then it was silent.  I listened to see if Jamie was coming back, but I heard nothing.  I couldn’t understand why I was disappointed.  I had already gone to bed.  I hadn’t wanted the company of the men outside my window.  Why would I want Jamie?

     I was just relaxing, on the edge of slumber, when I heard a different noise.  The crunch of gravel, then rubber slapping on wood, paired with a creaking sound.  Flip-flops?  On my steps?  A long moment of silence, then a creak and a rattling sound.  Someone was on my doorstep, and he was trying to turn my doorknob.  I was almost certain the door was locked.  I knew I’d locked it when I came in from going to the bathroom before bed.  Hadn’t I?  Frantically, I thought over everything I owned.  Did I have anything in here that would be a good weapon?  Sundresses, shoes, a towel?  A book.  A frying pan!

     I sat up in bed, ready to run if I needed to.  Where would I go?  Could I run a mile to the Peace Corp school?  I threw my feet over the side of the bed and crept across the floor, scrabbling for my zories at the door.  I was panting, nearly hyperventilating.  “ _I can’t run in flip-flops!”_   I whimpered to myself, not realizing I’d actually spoken out loud.

      “Ripālle?”  The deep voice came through the door.  “Claire, is that you?”

      “Jamie?!!  Dammit, Jamie!”  I exclaimed, opening the door.  “You gave me a freakin’ heart attack!”

      “Sorry, lass,” he chuckled, stepping away from the door.  “I escorted yer drunk friends away, but thought I should check your door to make sure it was locked in case any of them tried to bother ye again tonight.  I thought ye were asleep, and I didna want to bother you.”

      “I’m quite awake,” I said, looking around.  “Do you want to come in?” 

      “Sorry, Ripālle,” he said. “I think ye should close the door.”

      I moved to come outside, and he shook his head.  “No, Claire.  Wi’ you on the inside, and me on the outside.”

      “What?”  I asked.

      “I dinna want the island men to get the idea that if they just stick around longer that they’ll get invited in.”  He reached for the door knob and started to pull the door closed.

      “But Jamie, my heart is still pounding.  I’m not going to be able to go to sleep.”

      “Ye dinna need to be afraid,” he said reassuringly, as he inched the door the rest of the way closed.  “I’mna going home yet. I will sit on yer doorstep awhile ‘til I’m sure they won’t come back.”

     I stood inside my apartment with the door closed in front of me for a frustrated second, and then I turned around, leaned against the door and slid down until I was sitting with my back against it.

      “Why were they here?  What did they want?” I asked.  For a moment I wondered whether he’d be able to hear me, but quickly realized the door was hollow faux wood, with a gap at the bottom—and the two louvered windows to either side were completely open to the night air.

      “What did they say?” Jamie asked.  The door moved slightly against my back as he sat down on the other side.    

      “They said they wanted to talk to me or go to the jungle with me,” I said.  “They asked nice, but it freaked me out.”

      “Both mean about the same thing…” Jamie said. “And I’m sure you can guess what that is.”  I could guess, and I could also feel the door vibrate from his husky voice.

      “What did _you_ say to them?” I asked. 

      “Dinna remember, really.  That what they were doing wasn’t good.  That you didn’t want to go with them.  And I told them they make poor choices when they’re drunk.”

      “They were drunk?” I asked.

      “Most definitely,” said Jamie.  “They wouldna be bothering ye if they were _sober_.  Abner and Samson are decent enough men.  They came stumbling by our house and told Rupert they were going to visit ye.  I didna want to confront them if they decided better, so I walked along the beach, matched their pace, and came out here when it was obvious they werena leaving ye alone.

      “Thank you,” I said. “That was weird.  I hope that doesn’t happen again.”

      “Well,” said Jamie, slowly.  “I canna promise that.  I’m surprised Laura didna mention the nighttime visitors.”

      “That happens a lot?” I asked, stunned.  “What do I do next time, when you aren’t here to send them away?”

      “Do ye want to learn some Majol?” Jamie asked.

      “Okay,” I responded agreeably.

      “What do ye ken already?”

      “I know ‘eh jab ma lay lay,’” I said.

      “Okay.  ‘I don’t understand.’ That’s helpful, but not here.  What else?”

      “Um.  Kway shu tal non yah!”

      “Hmmm.  Excellent, if you want to ask them where they’re going, though they already announced they would like to go to the jungle,” he laughed. 

      “Okay, then what should I say?” I asked.

      “ _Ejab kōṇaan_ is pretty easy,” Jamie said.  “That means ‘I don’t want.”

      “Eh jab coe non,” I repeated.

      “ _Kwō etal wōt_ means ‘you should go away.’”

      “Quo eh tal watt.”

      “Good,” Jamie said.  “But you should say _something_ , even if you say it in English.  They’re kind of persistent.”

      “So, let me get this straight.  I can’t walk alone at night, though now I’m pretty sure I don’t want to, but guys can just come to my house and try to seduce me through the window?

      “Or door,” said Jamie.  The door shook; I could feel him laugh.  “I’m just joking, Ripālle,” he murmured.

      “You called me that again,” I said.  “Isn’t that the word that means selfish white person?”

      “Aye, Ripālle.”

      “Rrrri pol´-lay?” I repeated.  “You’re really going to call me selfish white person?”

      “I dinna mean it that way,” he said.  “And are ye saying ye arna one?”

      I scoffed.  “Well, maybe I am, but why call me that?”

      “It’s a pretty word. I get to roll an ‘r’ at the beginning.”

      I laughed from a sudden realization.  “That’s why you Scots feel so at home in the Marshall Islands,” I said.  “You’re the only two cultures I know that roll their ‘r’s’ so often!” 

      I heard a huge yawn from outside.  “Well, Ripālle,” he said.  “I’m tired.  What are ye doing tomorrow?”

     “Laundry, I think,” I said, his yawn contagiously spreading to me.  “And you?”

      “Can I come visit ye in the light?” he asked. 

      “That’d be nice,” I said.  “Goodnight, Jamie.” 

      “Goodnight, Claire.”  I got up from the floor, and listened to the sound of Jamie’s flip-flops crunching in the gravel, my young protector heading home.

 

Young Geckos In Love  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the nighttime visitors...I got invited to go to the “shungle” a lot. Didn’t take them up on it. Sadly didn’t have an adorable young Scot rescue me.... ;)


	7. Dirty Laundry

     In our five years of living together since becoming engaged, Frank and I had fallen into a comfortable division of labor.  Frank, having more of the business acumen, took care of the budget.  I had more of a talent for cooking, so I did the lion’s share while Frank was an excellent doer of dishes, pots, and pans. He took care of the vehicle maintenance, and I took care of the home.  And somehow doing laundry had fallen to me; sorting clothing, switching loads, hanging up shirts out of the dryer, matching socks and neatly folding underwear, and putting tee shirts and jeans into our drawers.

 

     When I woke up Saturday morning, the wind was whipping the curtains away from my window.  I peeked outside.  Though there were a few clouds moving quickly through the sky, it was sunny and already warm. 

      “Laundry time!” I said, to psych myself up.  I had a plastic laundry basket already filled with the clothes I had worn so far this week, so I pulled out the laundry soap and carried my basket to the yard close to the well, where I found a place in the shade to get set up.  On my next trip I brought out the red wash tub, the 1 by 2 foot scrub board made of wood, and the stiff scrub brush.

     Once I’d put my laundry into the tub, I went to the well and wrestled with the coffee can bucket until I’d drawn my first five gallons, which I poured over the clothes and soap.  I swished everything around and then sat down cross-legged next to the tub, pulling the skirt of my sundress to cover my knees.  I leaned the scrub board against the side of the tub, grabbed the first item, which happened to be a pair of panties, slapped it onto the board, and then scrubbed it a little with the brush.  I didn’t want to completely wear out the fabric so I kept my motions reasonably gentle, but I could see how the brush and board got the soapy water thoroughly through the fabric. 

     I had just picked up the panties to wring them out, when a voice behind me said, “Well, hello there, Ripālle!”  I thrust the panties back into the water.

      “How’re ye going to know which ones ye’ve already washed?” Jamie asked curiously, squatting in front of me.  He grinned at my flushed cheeks.  “I’ve got a sister,” he said.  “Those arna the first panties I’ve ever seen.”

      “I wouldn’t think they would be,” I said.  “I’m just not used to doing laundry out in the open.”  I pulled the panties out of the water, wrung them out, and tossed them into the laundry basket, then grabbed the next item of clothing and continued the operation.

      “A sister?” I asked. “How many kids in your family?” 

     A slight shadow crossed Jamie’s face. “Just Jenny, now,” he said. “I had a younger brother William, but he died when he was young.”

      “Is Jenny older or younger?” I asked, scrubbing away as we talked.

      “Older by two years, but she thought she was the boss of me from the time I popped out of my ma.”

      “Where does she live?”

      “Still in Scotland,” he said.  “Married to my good friend Ian.  And how about you? Sisters or brothers?”

      “I’m the second of four,” I said.  “Older sister Amy, younger brother Seth, and little sister Shelly.”

      “But not Catholic?” he asked curiously, smiling over at me.

      “No, just prolific,” I said, focusing on scrubbing.

     Jamie was smiling at me when I glanced up at him.

      “What?” I asked. 

      “Ye’re concentrating so hard,” he said.  “It’s funny.”

      “Hey, this is new to me,” I said.  “When I go shopping, if an item says ‘handwash only,’ I put it back on the rack.  This is like being in ‘Little House on the Prairie!’”

     There was no recognition on his face.  “You know, ‘ _Little House on the Prairie_?’” I said, then suddenly realized, “Oh, that’s totally an American kids’ book.  It’s about the westward expansion and a pioneer family who lived on the prairie.”

      “What’s a prairie?” he asked, glancing beyond me to the lagoon, where the wind was whipping the waves into white caps.

      “Oh, a grassland, in the middle part of America where it’s pretty flat.  They call it the “breadbasket” of the states because most of the grain is grown there.”

      “Ah,” Jamie said.  “We dinna have prairies in Scotland, but we have the highlands.  And moors.”

      “What books did you grow up reading?  Is there _Scottish_ literature?” I asked. 

     Jamie smiled.  “When we were growing up, my mum always read us the Katie Morag books, about a little ginger from Scotland. Because Jenny was older, I had a lot more books about girls than boys read to me. And Robert Louis Stevenson is Scottish, so I read Treasure Island. J.M. Barrie, who wrote Peter Pan was Scottish. J.K. Rowling wrote the Harry Potter books while living in Edinburgh. ”

      “Oh, I read those, too--but not Katie Morag.  Hey, aren’t your legs getting tired?” I asked, as I watched him squat there, almost sitting on his heels, his elbows on his knees.

      “Ejab,” he said.  “I mean, no.  This is the way people sit here.  Keeps your bum from getting dirty.”

      “Really?”  I said.  “Looks extremely uncomfortable.”

      “Try it,” he said.

      “I can’t squat in a dress,” I answered skeptically, “Wouldn’t be decent!”

      “Aye, ye can,” he said.  “Ye stand up, gather your skirts tight behind yer legs, and then toss the extra fabric down between yer knees in the front.”

      “And _you_ know about how to squat in dresses because?”

      “First, because I’m a Scot,” he said, bright blue eyes twinkling.  “Any self-respecting Scot has had a kilt on a time or two, at least.  And second, because I’ve seen almost every Majol woman here squat that way.”

     Game for a challenge, I stood up, gathered my skirts up tightly and dropped them between my knees as I squatted.  It was very decent, but not a particularly comfortable position to maintain.  After a minute or so, I went back to my seated location on the ground, only to discover that my washtub appeared to be leaking and I’d just sat down in some sudsy dirt.  _I should probably have kept squatting_ , I thought.

      “Ye’ll figure it out with some practice,” Jamie said.  As I continued to scrub, he watched me. “Can I get you some rinse water?” he asked.

     “That would be helpful,” I responded.  “I don’t have the knack for drawing water from the well yet.”  Jamie smiled, grabbed the big bucket, and headed off.  While he was gone, I scrabbled for my other panties and bras in the water and washed them as quickly as I could.  I was almost ready for the rinse water, scrubbing and sloshing my towel around, when Jamie came back.

     When I was about to toss the towel into the laundry basket, Jamie reached out his hand.  “Ye should wring it out,” he said.  “Ye dinna want all the soap getting into your rinse water.” We stood, and Jamie held one end of the towel while I held the other, twisting in opposite directions to get as much of the water out as possible.

     To rinse, I just sloshed the clothes around in the clean water, and then drained them, pulling them out of the water and slopping them into the laundry basket.  Jamie picked up the laundry basket when I dumped the water out of the wash tub, and followed me as I walked around the house to the two laundry lines.  Without asking if I needed help, he started grabbing clothes from the basket and wringing them out, taking the dresses, shirts, and skirts and hanging them up on the line with the clothespins.  He kindly left the bras and panties to me.

     We worked in companionable silence as the wind whipped the laundry around.  Finally I looked at him curiously.  “Is it weird that we’re not talking?” I said.

      “I think it just means we dinna feel nervous around each other,” Jamie said, shrugging his shoulders as he clipped another dress to the line.  “Sometimes people prattle on to fill silences.  I think it’s a better measure of friendship if ye can be quiet together, too.”

     His musings made me smile, and I went back to the calming monotony of twisting, wringing, hanging, and handing things to Jamie.  The whole process was very therapeutic, and when the job was done, with the clothes bobbing away on the line in the wind, I smiled at him.  “Thank you, Jamie,” I said.

      “So, you want to go _bwebwenato_ with me?” he asked.

      “That’s what one of those guys said last night,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.  “You’re not asking me to go to the ‘shungle,’ are you?”

      “Nah,” he grinned.  “ _Bwebwenato_ means talk or visit.  I thought we could go for a walk and visit some different families today.  D’ye have any other chores you needed to do?”

      “No, just need to wait for the clothes dryer,” I said, pointing to the clothesline.  “Who should we visit?”

      “Have you met your next door neighbors?” Jamie pointed through the palm trees and bushes to the house we could see there.

      “Not yet,” I said, somewhat embarrassed that a week had gone by without introducing myself to anyone but the patients who had come to the clinic.

      “Well, then, that’s a good place to start.”  Jamie led the way to the road, the few steps to the next property over, and then he called out, “Yokwe, Maria?  Metao?”  A girl, probably in her mid to late teens came out of the house. 

      “Mister Shamie!” she said.  “Hi, Miss Peachay.”  Well, we might not have met, but she knew who I was.

      “This is Maria,” he told me.  “She’s graduated from the school.  Her father Metao is a fisherman who works out on the docks.” 

     The girl smiled shyly at me.  “You want some coconut?” she asked me. 

      “Sure,” I said.  One thing I had gained from my cultural training was that it was rude to refuse hospitality in the Marshall Islands.

      “Mister Shamie, can you climb?” she asked, pointing up a coconut tree to the large green oblongs up at the top.  They looked nothing at all like the small round brown coconuts I’d seen at the grocery store.

     Jamie eyed the tree, then gripped the trunk with both hands on the far side of the tree from him, and basically walked up the tree, advancing his hands up the trunk at the same time.  I had no idea how he did it, and exchanged glances of astonishment with Maria.

     Maria was smiling at me.  “Mister Shamie is lakatu, dipen, y aetoktok,” she said.  “Handsome.  Strong.  And tall.  Yes?”

      “Yes,” I said, watching him as he reached the top, clutched the tree with his thighs, and then tossed down three coconuts.   

      “Ej jeraṃ?” she asked.

      “Ejab malele,” I said.  “I don’t know what that means.”

      “Is he your boyfriend?” she asked, eyeing me curiously.

      “No,” I said, with a chuckle.

      “I see him helping you _Kwaḷkoḷ nuknuk_.  Washing clothes.  _Ej jerbal in kora._   That’s woman’s work.  And he help you.”

      “Not a boyfriend, though,” I said.  “He’s just a friend.”

      “I hear him talk to you,” she said with a skeptical smile and raised eyebrows.  “ _In boñ._   At _night_.”

      “Not a boyfriend,” I said, shaking my head as Jamie approached, three smooth green coconuts in his arms. 

     Maria walked a few paces, grabbed a machete, and came back with it.  Jamie took the machete, held one coconut at an angle in his hand, and repeatedly hacked off little bits of the outer fibrous husk until it exposed a section of pale brown.  Then with one final slice, he exposed a gelatinous white  substance underneath.  Taking the tip of the machete, he cut through the white material, and handed the coconut to me.

      “It’s young coconut,” he said.  “Try drinking the coconut juice.”

     Hesitantly, I lifted the coconut to my mouth.  The liquid inside was cool, sweet, and almost fizzy.  I couldn’t decide whether I liked it, but after mostly drinking water, it was more interesting, to be sure.  I handed it back to Jamie, who guzzled it down, and then completely cut the coconut in half. 

      “You can scrape out the meat,” he said, demonstrating how to use a fingernail to free the flesh inside from the shell.  Again, this was nothing like the brown store coconuts, with their thick, hard coconut meat inside the solid shells.  This stuff was more like jello, only a quarter of an inch thick or less, just a sweet, soft, jelly-like substance.  I’d never really liked coconut, but I liked this.  Jamie opened the other two coconuts, giving one to Maria, and offering me another sip from his before he drank. 

     After visiting with Maria, we wandered down the road, stopping to visit people along the way.  I couldn’t remember half of the names, and while some of them spoke English, other ones did not.  We were fed banana bread, roasted breadfruit, salted fish, and more coconut.  Then Jamie showed me Mr. Ogawa’s store, where I could find some basic canned goods if I ran out as well as candy bars in the refrigerator if I had a chocolate craving. The store was one place on the island that used a generator for constant electricity.  I felt jealous of their refrigerator.

     From there we walked out to the dock on the ocean side.  The water was much darker there than the lagoon.  When I asked Jamie why, he said, “You remember them talking about the drop off in _Finding Nemo_?” At my nod, he explained, “The outer edge of an atoll has a steeper drop off than the lagoon.  We can take you snorkeling out here some time to show you.  Of course, this is where tiger sharks have been spotted, so we tend to snorkel in the lagoon more.”  I shuddered at the thought.

     Jamie turned and looked at me as I gazed across the open ocean in silence.  “Are ye missing yer Frank, then?” he asked.

      “Yeah, it’s strange to have been away from him this long,” I said.  “But I’ve been too busy for missing, I guess.”

      “So, if ye dinna mind me asking,” Jamie said, “why the Peace Corps? And why now?  When you’ve been virtually married for five years?”

      “It’s just something I’ve wanted to do forever.  We hadn’t gotten pregnant, so I figured now was the time.”

      “But you love him, don’t you?” Jamie asked.

      “We’ve been together for seven years,” I answered.

     He looked at me silently for a moment.  “That didna answer my question,” he said, but he didn’t press me again.

     The wind was picking up even more, and the clouds in the sky were becoming more ominous, so Jamie suggested we head back.

      “Can we walk on the beach together if it’s not night time?” I asked.  From Maria’s comments, it was obvious our friendship hadn’t gone unnoticed.  However, Jamie didn’t seem to think it was a problem, so we crossed to the lagoon side of the island and started walking down the beach back toward the clinic.

     Over the islands on the far side of the lagoon, the sky began to darken.  Soon, I could actually see the rapid approach of a rainstorm toward us across the lagoon, the water below the approaching clouds roughening in appearance as the rain hit it.

      “My laundry!” I exclaimed.  We were nearly back to the clinic when the first drops of rain began to fall. Jamie and I rushed from item to item, unclipping the clothespins and tossing the clothes into my laundry basket.  When the laundry was all off the lines, I stuck the basket inside my house.  But I stayed out, as the warm rain pelted down in drenching sheets.  Huge droplets soaked me to the skin, and yet I didn’t go inside.  I’d never been in warm rain before.  Jamie had taken shelter on my porch, and watched smilingly as I danced around in the water.  Finally, dripping wet, I joined him on the stoop, squeezing in under the small amount of shelter provided by the overhang.  Now that I was wet to the skin, I started shivering.

     Jamie put his arm around me.  “You’re a silly girl, Ripālle,” he said.  When I glanced up at him, I was disconcerted by the intense look in his eyes, especially when his gaze seemed to drift down towards my lips and his arm subtly pulled me closer.

     I glanced toward Maria’s house.  I thought I might have seen a dark-haired form entering their cabin, but I couldn’t be sure.

      “Well,” I said cheerily, pulling from his grasp.  “Thanks for keeping me company today.”  I headed inside to hang my clothes over chairs and on hangers to dry the rest of the way.  My stomach felt funny, and I didn’t watch him walk away.

 

     Saturday night I was just getting ready for bed when I heard rustling outside my window again.  It was disturbing; I’d just been getting dressed for bed.

      “Miss Peachay, I want to talk to you,” sang a disconcertingly strange voice.

      “ _Ejab konaan_ ,” I said, proud of myself for remembering the Marshall words.  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

      “Miss Peachay, I want to talk to you,” the voice repeated.

      “ _Kwō etal wōt_ ,” I said.  “Go away!”

      “Good job, Claire!” said a voice that was distinctly _not_ Marshallese.

      “Rupert!” I exclaimed irritably.  “What are you doing outside my window?”

      “Oh, Jamie has us doing night watch duty,” he said.  “Until yer visitors stop coming, or at least for the next week or so.”

      “That’s nice of you,” I said.  “And I guess it was good to practice my Majol.  Did I say it right?”

      “Good enough,” he said.  “They would understand you.”

      “Okay,” I said.  “Well, good night, Rupert.  How long will you be staying?”

      “Half hour,” he said. 

     I grabbed my book and was going to lie down on my bed to read.

      “Um, Miss Peach,” Rupert spoke, almost forlornly.  “Ye might no want yer light on when ye get dressed for bed at night.”

      “ _What do you_ _mean_?”  I asked with a sudden rush of embarrassment.

      “As much as I liked what I saw, so did all the other men out here at the time.”

      “All the other men??”  I exclaimed.  Frantically I started thinking, _did I take my bra off before or after I put on my tank top_?

      “Just a joke,” Rupert chuckled.  “Far as I know, I was the lucky one.”

     I groaned.  “So you can see through the curtains?”

      “Quite clearly,” said Rupert.  “Ye can come out and see for yourself.”

     I could hear him coming to my door, and I opened it for him, with Rupert coming inside and me going outside the house toward the window where my bed was.  Sure enough, having the light on made the polyester curtains virtually see-through.  Rupert made a show of sexily lifting his shirt to show his solid belly covered with hair, and then lowered it down.

     As we passed each other at the door, Rupert grinned at me. 

      “Yeah, I saw all that,” I said.  “It was _amazing_.  Thanks.”

      “It was very pleasant for me, too,” he said as I closed the door.  “Ye do have some very cute panties, and, ye know, a nice body as well.”

      “Last you’re going to see of it,” I said.

      “I know someone who will be verra jealous of me,” Rupert said, enthusiastically rolling his r’s.

      “You mean Angus?” I said.  I could only imagine how happy it would have made Angus to be outside watching me get dressed.

      “Oh yes, him too,” Rupert responded.

     It took me a moment to get what he was saying.  “Why are you guys constantly teasing Jamie?” I said.  “I mean, we’re friends, but I’m engaged and five years older than him.”

      “Yes, but yer bonny.  And white.”

      “I am sure there are countless gorgeous island girls here ready to throw themselves at him,” I said.

      “He isna interested in just anyone,” Rupert said. “He’s kind of particular.”

      “Particular?  Why?”

      “Oh, ye dinna ken?” Rupert asked.  “He’s still a virgin.”

 

 

 

Different wash tub, same basic concept--plywood board and a scrub brush!   
  
Nature's tumble dry cycle 

 

[ ](http://www.reliablecounter.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to FaerieChild for accurate info on Scottish literature!


	8. Poor Me, Bore Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week after arriving on Arno, Claire is lonely, bored, and hungry!

     “Come, on, dammit!” I swore at the bucket.  I couldn’t understand it.  In the past eight days since arriving on Arno, I’d had a lot of practice drawing water from the well.  I’d started to master the little wrist-flip required to get the coffee can to turn on its side and sink into the well water, filling quickly so I could pull it up, empty it into the five gallon bucket, and lower it down again.  But that morning, the bucket kept running into rock, and it wasn’t sinking into the water.  I peered down into the well, and I felt a surge of concern.  There was barely enough water in the well to cover the pebbles at the bottom.  What was I going to do if I ran out of water?

     I had two sources of water on Arno.  There was a well, and there was a catchment.

     The well was at the center of our property.  A wall of cement blocks built up in a square stood about three feet tall, and the well had been dug down through the coral rock that formed the atoll.  Well water was brackish—slightly salty and bad tasting.  Laura had clarified the distinction between my two water sources when she helped me move in.  The well water was good for washing dishes and clothes, taking showers, and flushing our toilet. 

  


     The toilet was one bit of civilization I was grateful for.  The locals used the sand of the lagoon beach in the mornings and the jungle the rest of the day for their bathrooms.  A few people had outhouses.  But when the Peace Corps had built the clinic, they dug a septic tank and installed a toilet in an outhouse structure across the yard from the clinic.  With no running water, you had to pour a bucket of water into the toilet to cause it to flush.  Because of the effort it took to draw water, I tended to wait through a couple of uses before flushing.

     For drinking water, there was the catchment.  The catchment had been dug into the ground and built with brick and mortar, and then up from the brick tank was built a wooden structure with a corrugated aluminum roof.  The catchment was filled by rain.  Instead of the gutters from the clinic and my apartment sending the run-off from rainstorms onto the ground, the downspout went all the way into the soil, where the pipe traveled across the yard to the catchment, spilling the fresh water into the tank.  The hand pump in the clinic fed from the catchment, but I had a bucket specifically for drinking and cooking that I would fill, either by pumping water in the clinic or by drawing water through the door of the catchment.  That bucket I would keep in the house, along with a different bucket of well water for doing dishes.

     I continued to swear at the bucket as I lowered it, only succeeding in filling it half-way most times, which made the process that much slower. 

      “What’s wrong, Miss Peachay?”  Maria had wandered over at the sounds of my frustrated language.  I kind of hoped her English knowledge didn’t extend to the majority of the words I’d been muttering under my breath.

      “I think our well is leaking,” I said.  “The water level seems to be really low.”

      “Ejab,” said Maria, shaking her head.  “It’s not leaking; it’s the moon.”

      “What?”  I asked, confused.  “The moon?  What do you mean?”

      “When the moon is full, we have king tides—highest tides of the month.  When moon is new and dark, we have the lowest tides, like right now.”

      “But what does that have to do with the water in the well?”  I asked. 

      “The water in the well is fresh.  It floats on top of the salt water below,” Maria explained.  “So when the moon is full and close, the tide is high, and the water in the well is high; and when the moon is dark and far away, the tide is low, and the water is low.  It won’t be always.  In two weeks, it will be high again, then low again.”

      “Huh.” I said.  “What do you know!  Well, at least I don’t have to worry about a leak in the well.”

      “Ejab,” she said, smiling.  “So you don’t need to bad word the well anymore.”

      “I’m sorry,” I smiled apologetically.  “How do you say that in Majel?”

      “Jōlok bōd,” she said (Joe lock burrrr)

      “Jōlok bōd,” I said.  “Sorry for my bad language.”

      “Ejelok bōd,” she said, grinning back at me kindly.  I assumed that meant, “It’s okay.”

      “Does the moon affect anything else?” I asked her, curious now.

      “Oh, alab…all things,” she responded.  “The full moon is when the pigs and people make babies.  And womans bleed.”

      “What?”

      “Bōtōktōk,” she said, indicated her private area generally with her hand.  “I think the English word is _period_?”

      “The moon makes women have their period?” I asked, wrinkling my forehead.

      “Ayet,” Maria nodded confidently. 

      “Really?” I asked skeptically.

      “You will see,” she answered, shrugging her shoulders.  “See if you change and start to bleed with the moon.”

      “That seems _very_ strange to me,” I said.

     Maria smiled at me patronizingly.  “Uh.  You are ri-pālle.” She shrugged again and headed off back to her house.

     _Well_ , I thought, as I watched her depart.  _Nice to know that Jamie’s name for me not only means selfish white person; it also means **stupid** white person._

     I had felt like a stupid white person that afternoon as I stood in front of a group of island women to talk to them about health.  I was grateful Sharbella was translating for me, and I had a feeling she was adding information to make me seem more intelligent, because I would talk for only a little while, and then she would talk for the next two minutes.

     When I considered what topic I should address for my first community health meeting, I felt like it was important to encourage cleanliness and nutrition.  But the responses I got from people reminded me I was not in the states anymore.  Sure, they should bathe more frequently, but water was limited.  They ran out of soap quickly, and it cost money. 

     Definitely, they should eat more fruit and vegetables, but not much grew naturally on the islands, and some crops were seasonal.  You’d get a gigantic bunch of bananas, and you’d eat banana bread and banana pancakes, and just plain bananas.  But that amount of bananas, Sharbella explained to me, blushing, could end up causing severe constipation.  There might be an occasional papaya, or a few limes, but in general, the local diet consisted of fish, coconut, refined flour, and white rice, with a healthy dose of Crisco, which was the frying oil of choice.

     Once the bucket was full, I tromped across the yard, weighed down by the forty pound bucket, water sloshing out with every step.  I put it in the shower, and brought the empty shower bucket back to the well to fill to have in the house.  I preferred to do my water-drawing all at once, because no matter how careful I was, I always got wet, whether in the process of drawing the water or in carrying the unwieldy bucket to wherever I needed it.

     The day was particularly humid, and it was extra work to draw the water, so by the time I was finished filling my second bucket, I felt like I was damp all over. 

     I kept on thinking about food.  It had only been a little more than a week that I’d been on the island, but I felt like I was starving for a massaged kale salad.  Avocadoes on toast.  Roasted Brussels sprouts.  Carrot sticks, cucumbers, a green juice or smoothie.  Just thinking about food made me salivate.  Burritos, Broccoli beef stir fry, Vietnamese pho soup, Thai pad see ew noodles, Indian curry. 

     But then I entered my apartment.  On the shelves of my pantry were canned corn, canned peas, canned green beans, canned peaches, applesauce, canned pears.  There was pasta; I had flour and pancake mix.  I had cans of tuna. 

      “I don’t want _any_ of this crap,” I whined to myself.  I wanted Whole Foods.  I wanted a super market.  I wanted something fresh.  I wanted to go a restaurant.  I just wanted to _be_ somewhere else. 

     In no way did I feel like a 27-year-old woman.  I felt like a grumpy six-year-old.  I was lonely, bored out of my mind, and incredibly unsatisfied.  I wanted to stomp my feet, cry, throw things, and take a nap.  And my period had just finished, so I couldn’t blame PMS. 

     Then, there was a knock on my door.  I patted my cheeks to get them as pink as my red eyes, then went to open the door.  Jamie and Rupert were standing there, and they held out a plastic grocery bag to me.

     At the question in my eyes, Rupert said, “Why, it’s mail day, lass, ye ken.  Here’s yer mail.”

      “Thanks,” I said, with a brief smile.  It was hard to choke out the word over the lump in my throat, and I tried to not look too eager to slam the door with them outside, particularly since they were both beaming at me.  I cleared my throat.  “Really, thanks.  I needed something today.”  Rupert had turned to go, but Jamie kept his eyes on me, his face radiating compassion.  He raised his eyebrows as if to ask me if I was okay.  I nodded, and headed inside.

 

     It felt like Christmas, as I sat on my bed and opened the grocery bag, gently untying the knot instead of ripping it open.  There was a small box—that was from Frank.  There were several envelopes, and a couple of post cards as well.

     I opened the package from Frank.  Inside there were three envelopes.  They said “Open today!” “Open Thursday!” and “Open Saturday!”  And underneath the three envelopes, there was three bags of m&ms.  Chocolate!  I started crying, ripped open one of the bags of m&ms and popped one in my mouth as I opened the first envelope and flopped on my stomach to read the letter from Frank.

* * *

 

> Dear Claire,
> 
>      You probably arrived in Arno today as I write this.  It was amazing to hear your voice yesterday from Majuro.  You sounded nervous and excited at the same time.  What’s it like?  How has your first week of work gone?
> 
>      Joe called the other day, wanting to know your contact address.  He says they’re going to miss you at the clinic, but the new hire seems to be a good fit, and she is grateful for the opportunity to work for such a great group.
> 
>      I’ve started jogging in the mornings.  With my different schedule, I do find I’m doing more things that would have seemed selfish to me in the past.  I’m going to bed earlier and waking up earlier, so some morning exercise feels good.
> 
>      The trees look amazing.  I’ve enclosed a few leaves for you to remember New England by.  This was always one of your favorite times of year.  Sorry you’re missing it!
> 
>      Well, I can’t say I’m not a man of many words, but this doctoral thesis is really monopolizing my thoughts right now, so this will be it for this letter. 
> 
> Love,
> 
> Frank
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

     The rest of the cards and letters shared news from home, and I could hear familiar voices as I read.  My sister Amy enclosed a picture of her kids on their first day of school, all four of them staring off into space in different directions, the little goobers; though she did get one of them all smiling for “Auntie Claire.”

     Mom said they’d had a tropical storm on Guam, but that nothing really got hurt, except for their avocado tree, which lost three of the largest branches, already loaded with fruit.

      “It doesn’t really matter, though,” she said.  “Your dad and I always gain five pounds when the avocados are ripe, so it’s probably best that there will be fewer this season.”

     Seth filled me in on his latest adventures in his senior year of college.  He still hadn’t found a wife, he kidded, but considering that I was 27 and hadn’t yet married, he wasn’t too worried for himself.

     And little Shelly, currently a sophomore at UOG, tattled on Seth—that he was dating way too many different girls, and it was like he was trying to experience a ethnicity sampler.  The last four had been Korean, Japanese, Filipino and Chamorro.  She couldn’t decide which young lady she liked the most, and apparently, neither could Seth.

     Finally, there was a postcard from Joe, telling me I was missed, but that they were going to be fine in my absence.  “Remember,” he signed off, “No half-life.”

     Joe was one of the reasons I had even decided to do this thing.  We finished our undergrad degrees at different times, but we had traveled through the practitioner program together, and had become good friends in the process.  Joe had told me that it seemed like I’d been only half alive lately, and when I talked about joining the Peace Corps, that was the first time he had seen me sparkle in a long time.

      When I’d read all the letters, I sprawled on my back on the bed, surrounded by the pieces of paper, like tiny hugs all around me, and I cried.

     Through the evening, as I ate my intensely boring dinner, read my boring book, did some boring yoga, and got dressed in my boring pajamas (in the dark), I grabbed different letters and read them again, laughing as I imagined those familiar faces, heard those familiar voices in my head.

     But when I turned the lights off, I felt devastatingly alone.

     “Hey, Claire?”  The husky voice spoke quietly from outside my window.

     “Jamie.  It’s your night?” I asked.  I sat up, turned on my lamp, and swept the curtain to the side.  The gentle glow of the lamp lit his face slightly, as well as hitting the highlights of his hair.

     “Ye seemed off this afternoon,” he said.  “Is everything all right?  Did mail help?”

     “I just feel dumb,” I said.  “I’m telling the locals that they need to eat better and wash themselves better, and they already know that.  It’s not like I have some great wisdom they don’t have.  They just don’t have the wealth to vary their diets.  They have to buy what’s economical, and that’s white rice and white flour!  They can’t afford soap all the time.”

     I could see Jamie’s head bobbing as if he were nodding while listening to me.  He waited an extra long  time, like he was waiting to make sure I’d finished my thought.

     “They really are just subsistence farmers, most of them,” he said.  “Some of the men can make a little by harvesting and smoking coconut for copra.  And the women can make a little money by creating handicrafts.  But most of them dinna have a career or any real source of income.   Sometimes they send family members to work in Majuro and send them money just so they can live out here.

     “Ye didna seem okay this evening,” Jamie said.  “What’s wrong?”

     “I don’t want to whine,” I said.  “I’m just so bored and lonely and tired of canned food.  Of not knowing the language.  Of having three patients in a day and not feeling like I’m making a difference here at all.  I’m missing home, and though I was so excited to get mail today, now I just miss everyone more.”

     I heard a little chuckle, which for a second made me mad.  “For not wanting to whine, yer pretty skilled at it,” Jamie chuckled.  Then his tone changed.  “I’m sorry, though, Ripālle.  I ken it can be lonely, at first.  Ye miss everything that was familiar.  But it will become more comfortable with time.”

     “I want to believe you,” I said.  “But right now, I’m so lonely, it aches.  I don’t know if I’m going to be able to fall asleep tonight, my mind is whirling with all the voices and faces I remembered all afternoon.”

     “I have an idea,” he said.  “Can I bore ye to sleep?”

     “What in the world do you mean?” I asked him.

      “I can tell ye about Scottish history,” he said.  “And since yer American, and reasonably self-focused, ye’ll get so bored that ye’ll fall asleep, and I can head off once I hear ye snoring.”

      “I don’t snore,” I insisted.

      “Angus says ye do,” he responded.  “He was on last night.”

     I sighed, exasperated.  “Sure, Jamie.  Bore me.”

     I heard the noise of something being dragged underneath my window, and then a faint thunk, which I guessed was Jamie setting down a section of log for himself to sit on. 

     Then he blazed into a rambling description of early farmers, the Picts, Roman and Viking invaders, leaders like Duncan and MacBeth, who apparently was not the villain of the Shakespeare play.  Occasionally I would ask him questions, but as his deep voice rambled on, sure enough I found myself missing parts of stories, until I finally told Jamie, through a gigantic yawn, that he really had succeeded, and I was so bored, sleeping was going to be no trouble at all.

      “Iiokwe yuk, Ripālle,” I thought I heard him whisper as he left.  _I love you?_ I wondered sleepily.  And then I knew nothing more.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Notes:  
> **  
>  My husband and I were dating when I was on Arno. He was the most consistent letter writer I’ve ever known, probably the reason we made it through several years of long-distance relationship. There’d be one letter from other people, but three or four from him. He’s the nurse (I’m the teacher), so he was in nursing school at the time. He’d write his letters on pads of paper that medical reps give to hospitals and clinics, so I’d have a sweet letter from him written on a pad of paper that said something like “Incontinencia—Saving the world one bladder at a time.”
> 
> I do think it might be a challenge for Jamie to bore someone to sleep, but I think it could happen. As long as he tried to not be too animated a storyteller…and if he wasn’t in bed with you. 
> 
> Random Boring Bits of Scottish History from:  
> http://www.localhistories.org/scotland.html  
> Honestly, it’s killing me to be researching Arno these days. This article came out today. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/australiaandthepacific/marshallislands/8102112/Low-lying-Pacific-nation-planning-wall-to-keep-sea-out.html


	9. Stitch Removal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fabric of Claire's life is unraveling; but that may not be a bad thing.

* * *

 

Dear Frank,

     I miss you.   I’m so far away here!  It would be one thing if we had cell phone access, but it’s strange to not be able even to just text or call you.  It feels like a hundred times a day I’m reaching for a cell phone that’s not there, wanting to tell you about something, or take a picture to text you.

_But what’s more disturbing is how much I **don’t** think about you.  I can go hours wrapped up in my life here, and when I walk into my apartment and see your picture, suddenly I remember that I’m engaged, that you’re back in Boston, that really it used to be almost like we were married.  I feel like I’m forgetting what you look like; what you sound like._

          Turns out the island men are kind of creepy, so I doubt I’ll be sleeping with any of them.  ;)  I’m the only white woman on the island, so I am a bit of a celebrity.  I’ve had nighttime visitors proposition me, sweetly inviting me to ‘go to the shungle’ with them, but they don’t realize it’s not that appealing! I have a night watch that’s started patrolling so that my nighttime guests stay away, three guys from Scotland who are the teachers at the Peace Corps school down the road.  It’s nice to have friends who speak English.  I just need to make sure that I don’t spend time with them to the exclusion of getting to know the locals—just during the day, not at night.

     _You weren’t too far off.  Thirteen days in and I’m really missing sex.  I think that’s why I feel attracted to one of the Peace Corps guys, though he’s a baby in comparison to me.   I took the stitches out of a wound on his butt today, and it took everything in me to keep from putting my hands on him and propositioning him there in the clinic.  But that would violate all sorts of ethics, and definitely some moral guidelines as well._

     You should be impressed.  I did my laundry completely by hand this week.  Water from the well, scrub board and scrub brush, and clothespins on a line.  A rainstorm came, but we were able to get the clothes off in time.

_‘We’ is said young man Jamie Fraser and me.  He asked me if I loved you.  I didn’t say yes right away; I never said yes at all.  And when I was soaking wet from running around in the rain, he put his arm around me and pulled me close when I was cold, even though it got him all wet.  He was looking at my lips like he wanted to kiss me, and honestly I wanted him to.  My clothes were stuck to me, and I thought about what it would be like to invite him to come inside, take them off me, and take me to bed. I wish you were closer.  If I could make love to you, I think I’d feel like I had my head on straight._

     While I do feel like I’ve been able to help people, there is a challenge in being so remote.  I don’t have colleagues I can bounce ideas off of.  One of the things that is the most frustrating to me it that the little babies and todders here get boils on their heads and foreheads almost all the time.  They’re adorable, with their big brown eyes and tan skin, but the boils look so incongruous and painful.  I’m trying to decide what preventive techniques could help them, because once a boil has formed, it has to run its course.

_I wonder what I’ve done by separating us like this; I worry that I’ve started us down a road that leads us apart.  It wasn’t my intention to break up; I just wanted an adventure. I was bored with our rituals, bored with our location, bored with my life.  I thought we would have a houseful of children who looked a little like you, and a little like me. But after five years, I’m wondering if kids are even in my future.  And if they’re not, if “Mommy” isn’t one of the job descriptions I will hold, then I need to know what **is** important to me, what makes me feel alive.  And that’s why I’m here._

     How are your studies going?  How many pages do you have written, or are you planning on doing a thorough outline first before you start writing?  I’m guessing this is going to become another fascinating series of historical discoveries for you.  I hope the quiet is helping you write more.

     _It’s quiet here, but in a different way.  I’m having time to think.  And I’ve started wondering, why were we together?  I know you’re kind and calm.  But how did we end up dating?  What made us move in together?  And why didn’t you ever ask me to marry you?  Why didn’t I force the issue more?  Did you really need to wait until I got pregnant to propose, as if somehow only a baby would legitimize our love and make it necessary to commit further?_

     Well, I need to finish this up.  The guys said they would stop by and pick up the mail from me to give to Mayor Timisen.  He’s heading to Majuro today, and will probably bring mail back with him in a day or two.  I hope I can write more next time.  There’s just so much going on, I’m really overwhelmed anytime I sit down and put pen to paper.

Love ya,

Claire 

* * *

 

 

     “Next!” I said, coming out of the clinic door and checking the white board.  “Um, looks like…” I grinned. “Seamus Fraser,” I said. 

     Jamie had been sitting in the crotch of the sprawling tree out front, and he got up and came inside, closing the door behind him. 

     When I turned around,  I was met with an eyeful—the top half of a pair of nicely sculpted buttocks peeking out above the waistband of his shorts and plaid boxers.

      “ _Hell-O_!”  I said, taken aback.  “You’re not wasting any time, are you?”

      “ _Please_ tell me you can take the stitches out.”  I moved closer. Jamie stood with his back to me, holding the open front of his shorts up as I gently pulled the back of his shorts and boxers below the stitched-up cut on his right buttock.  “They itch like crazy, and they’re constantly getting stuck on my clothes.  I’ve obeyed your orders not to swim or spearfish, and it’s been almost two weeks.”

      “I think you are in luck, young Master Fraser,” I said, pulling the waistband of his boxers and shorts back in place.  “Today is the day!  I’ll give you a hospital gown so you can stay decent while I remove the stitches.”  He had turned back to me with his shorts still unbuttoned, with an utter lack of embarrassment.  I could see the angular cut beneath his hip bones and the tiny trail of hair leading down toward his fly.  I felt my breath catch.

      “I don’t care, Claire,” he said, grinning.  “I could just drop my drawers.”

      “Can you please let me feel like a professional?” I asked.  “I know we’re friends, but that would just be weird for me.” 

      “Sure, Ripālle, but you’re already quite intimately acquainted wi’ my backside.” 

     I rolled my eyes.

     I handed Jamie the hospital gown, and closed the curtain around him for him to dress.  “Ready!”  I heard the muffled sound as Jamie called me in.  He was covered by the gown, laying on the table, as I brought over the suture removal kit and antiseptic wash.

     After cleaning the healed wound and surrounding skin, I set to work, gripping each suture with the sterile forceps, quickly snipping the stitch with the surgical scissors, and setting the suture aside on a piece of gauze.

     Jamie groaned as I took out the first one.  “Are you okay?” I asked.  “It shouldn’t hurt!”

      “No, it feels good.  It has just itched like crazy,” he said.  “I’ll keep my groans to a minimum from here on out.”

      “And you’ll be able to scratch to your heart’s content when I’m done,” I said, “Though propriety encourages one to wait for scratching their butt until they’re alone.” He laughed.

      “This is quite the scar,” I said as I worked.  “I’ve never seen anything like it before.  I’m glad it didn’t get infected.  I saw some little boys playing in that boat or one like it, and there were some rusty regions that seem like they could really do some damage!”

      “Yeah, they probably should retire that boat.  And next time I will use better judgment,” he said, shaking his head. 

      “Well, we would all have a lot fewer stories if we didn’t make stupid mistakes.”  I dropped another suture onto the gauze.

      “You’ll have to show me one of _your_ scars,” Jamie said, turning to look at me. “And tell me the story that goes with it.  It’s only fair, I think.”

      “Sure, sometime,” I said.  “Last stitch!”

     Jamie reached his hand back, rubbed it across the stitch-free scar, and sighed.  “I’m glad that’s gone,” he said.

      “And it’s not really in a prominent place,” I said, pulling the gown down to cover him with a grin.  “Only your girlfriends will see it.” Jamie’s eyes flickered over to me and a strange look passed over his face—shyness, embarrassment, desire.  I wondered what _my_ face was telling him.

      “Well, thanks, Ripālle,” Jamie said, sitting up.  “I’ve been thinking—I can literally say ye saved my ass.” He snickered.

      “You’re welcome,” I said.  “See you around?”

     He sighed, cocked his head, and looked me directly in the eyes.  “Claire, you’re acting strange.  Did I make ye uncomfortable the other day?”

     I tried to play dumb, but I could feel my cheeks flushing.  Could he tell I had wanted to kiss him, too?  I felt lightheaded and took a deep breath.  “It _was_ a little awkward,” I said.

      “I know,” he said, smiling ruefully and dropping his gaze to the floor.  “I’m sorry for pressing ye on the point.  Yer relationship with Frank isna my business.  And I know that long-term relationships go through times when you dinna feel as connected, but yer commitment to each other pulls ye through.”

     _Oh_ , I realized with some relief, _he’s talking about asking me if I loved Frank._

      “It’s okay, Jamie,” I said, putting my hand on his knee so he’d look back at me.  “It did make me think about my motivations for coming out here.  And I realized there _must_ be something deep down in my relationship with Frank that I need to explore.”

      “But it wasna my place to question or confront you,” he said, putting his hand over mine, his forehead furrowing.  “I think I wanted to make Frank look bad, for whatever reason.”  He shook his head, frowning.  “It wasna kind.”

     My eyes were tearing up.  “Oh, Claire,” Jamie said. “Have I hurt ye?”

      “No,” I shook my head.  “True friends don’t need to be afraid of each other,” I mused.  “I actually think your questions came out of concern for me and a desire to seek the truth.  I _will_ try to be honest with you when I can, and if I’m ever offended, I’ll let you know.”

     Jamie hopped off the exam table and smilingly offered his arms.  I stood and stepped into them, and again found myself weeping, as he stroked my back, ran his fingers through my hair, and murmured foreign phrases to me.  Again I started to sense his physical response to me, but I didn’t let go, pressing myself more firmly to him, running my own hands over his back, creeping surreptitiously downwards toward the rise of firm muscles.  The pace of my breathing was increasing, and Jamie’s heart under my ear had sped slightly as well. 

      “You’re not ending this, are you?” Jamie asked finally.

      “Nope,” I said, snuggling my head against his chest.

      “Well, _I’d_ better, then,” Jamie said, laughing as he released his grip.  I didn’t; he finally had to push me away.  I cleared my throat, feeling the warmth of arousal in my lower abdomen, and then blew out my breath as I left him to change.

      “Goodbye, _Jimjeran_ ,” Jamie said as he departed from the clinic.  Sharbella had been translating as I assessed my next client.

      “What’s that mean?” I asked accusingly.  “Evil American?  Stinky foreigner? Weird lady?”

      “I’ll tell ye sometime,” he said with a wink, patting me on the arm.  “See you later, Claire.”

      Sharbella was smiling at me when I looked back at her.  “ _Jimjeran_ is good friend.  Lifelong companion,” she said.

 

* * *

 

Dear Claire,

     The house seems empty and blank without you here.  I’m still struggling to understand why you decided, at this stage in life, to leave an established relationship and career and run halfway around the globe.  I already made it clear how your choice has made me feel.

     I am trying not to be selfish, though.  I realize that we started dating when you were just nineteen, and I was already four years older and farther on in life than you.  It’s possible that by beginning to date me at such a young age, you ignored your heart’s desires. But I do wonder, if you really loved me, would you be doing this?

     I still remember when that girl with curly brown hair walked into the history office.  You didn’t like the way I’d graded your essay, and you had come to argue your case.  I remember thinking that you were fiery, articulate, and beautiful.  When you reciprocated my attention, I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

     Now, I’m just feeling deserted.  It makes me a little angry, but at the same time, I know how excited you are about this.  I am glad the hospital was willing to let you take a leave of absence without a fear of having no job when you come back.  You certainly will have a lot of practical, in-the-field experience after this year.

     This writing letters thing will take some getting used to, but I always loved getting envelopes from you that summer you were a camp nurse.  Write me soon.

     I do miss you, but I’m trying to keep busy, and I’m being social—going to mixers and university functions.  Just because you’re gone doesn’t mean I have to sit at home alone.  In fact, I think I’m out a lot more than when we were together.

     Make good choices and keep yourself safe.  We’ve invested  a lot of years in each other, and I would hate to lose you.

Love,

Frank

 

* * *

 

     I wondered, as I read Frank’s letter, what _he_ had left unsaid.

  


[](http://www.reliablecounter.com)  
  
[](http://)


	10. Geckos and Spiders and Jamie, Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is actually Chapter 8b, but I'm posting at the end for the present because it's the newest. I took time to re-read the story, and realized there was a bit of a rush before the wedding, and there were some cultural, new-to-the-island things that I'd left out. This takes place several days after Claire removes Jamie's stitches. 
> 
> I'd sketched out the events on an actual 2017 calendar, and it turns out that there was a big blank spot right around October 31--which is Samhain. Hope you find this fun, even though it's jumping back to "just-getting-acquainted" Claire and Jamie.

      Living on Arno was not for the faint of heart.  For every gorgeous beach scene and sunrise, there was something startling or gross.  Though I wasn’t sharing my space with Frank or a roommate or my sister anymore, I was sharing it with countless living things.  Besides the geckos, who would happily mate with each other on quite a regular basis, as well as leave little white splats on my kitchen table, there were ants.  If I made the mistake of leaving a crumb or dropping food in the kitchen and not picking it up immediately, a little trail of black bodies would soon be marching across my floor, carrying as much as they could back to their nests.

      And it wasn’t just the food I accidentally dropped that was at risk of being eaten by scavengers.  I quickly discovered that a bag of flour I’d brought had weevils in it, as did the bag of pinto beans.  The flour I was able to sift to remove the offending critters, but the beans were a loss, as the weevils had burrowed into many of them, and I didn’t have the time to inspect each bean individually.

      The humidity also had a way of making it into almost anything.  I’d bought some “ship biscuits” on Laura’s advice, thick hard crackers about 2 inches square that were decent with peanut butter, but were so dry they required a lot of water to wash them down.  The ship biscuits came in a square tin with a tight tin lid.  Those seemed to escape the humidity pretty well.  But if I opened a package of cereal or crackers, even if I rolled over the top of the interior bag  and clipped it securely with a clothes pin—or three—the humid air would find its way in and turn the food stale or soggy in nearly no time.

      I had brought along a lot of Tupperware and Gladware, knowing that plastic provided the most  impenetrable containers, and I re-packaged most of my food items, other than the canned goods, once I opened the boxes .

      The most hideous housemates, though, were the spiders.  I was happily getting ready for work one morning, paging through my dresses on their hangers to decide what I wanted to wear, when on the wall at the back of my hanging clothes I caught just a glimpse of a geometric design, about the size of my hand.  When I stopped and parted the dresses so I could see what it was, I screamed.  It _was_ the size of my hand, yes.  And it was a spider…  I jumped away from the clothes, screamed again, and danced around, even though I hadn’t touched it; and I’m afraid I may have shrieked a few more times for good measure.

  


      Slightly thereafter, there was a hesitant knock at my door.  Still wearing just bra and panties, I went over to the door.  “Yes?  Who is it?” I asked.

       “It’s….Jamie,” said a deep voice.  “I was out for my morning jog, and I heard you scream.  Are you all right?”

       “Ah…” I said, looking down at myself.  “Yes, but there is a _gigantic_ spider at the back of my closet.  It’s horrifying.  It’s as big as my hand…It’s as big as YOUR hand!”

      Jamie laughed.  “Oh, dinna worry about it.  That’s a huntsman spider.  They’re good, ‘cause they eat mosquitoes and ants.  You shouldna kill it.”

       “ _Kill_ it?”  I exclaimed.  “There’s no way I’m getting _close_ enough to it to kill it.  But I don’t know if I can stay in this house if it’s here!”

       “Do ye want me to take it out of yer house, then?” he asked, genially. “I’m no afraid of them.  They’re harmless, really.”

       “Yes, please,” I said.  “Let me get something on.”  I grabbed the dress on the closest end of the closet rod, slipped it on over my head, and opened the door.

       “Sorry,” Jamie apologized,  stepping quickly away from me as he entered the aparment.  “I dinna smell very good after a run.” He was shirtless, sweat glistening on his chest, wearing long, loose-fitting athletic shorts.  “So, where is this foul beast?”

      I gestured toward my clothes, and with Jamie there, got up the courage to part the dresses to the place I’d seen the spider.  It wasn’t there.

      Jamie searched the back of the closet and the floor around it, to no avail.  He pulled a few items off my dresser to check there, and when he turned back to me, he raised his eyebrows, and looked down at his chest and abdomen. 

       “Is there something on me?” he asked.

       “What?” I responded.

       “Yer staring at me strangely,” he said.  “I dinna ken what you’re looking at.”

       “Oh, my word,” I blushed.  “Was I staring at you?” I shook my head.  “I’m sorry, it’s just you’re shirtless and a man, and there’s no TV or movies or magazines out here…”

       “A _man_ , am I?” he asked playfully.  “Ye lustin’ after me then?”

       “Oh, no…no… _maybe_ …sorry,” I said, chuckling uncomfortably.  “Let’s get back to locating the spider.”

       Jamie appeared to be blushing slightly, himself, as he reached up to the shelf above the hangers to check for the spider.

       “He might have gone behind yer dresser,” he suggested helpfully.  “They’re not that brave.  They’re more likely to come out at night…”

      I stared at Jamie, hands on my hips.  “Are you trying to be funny?”

       “Nah,” he said.  “But they’ll no be trying to eat ye at night.  They ll be busy hunting mosquitoes!”

      I shuddered.  “Well, I do like the thought of fewer mosquitoes.”

      Jamie grinned.  “Well, I’d better get along.  Got to shower.  Dinna think my students would want me to stink like this all day.  And I dinna think ye can handle me being around much longer,” he said, looking askance at me as I again zoned out on his chest. 

      I shook myself out of my reverie again.  “I’m so sorry, Jamie.  I’m not trying to make you feel awkward.  It’s just early in the morning, and apparently my self-control hasn’t woken up yet…”

       “Ye dinna need to explain, lass,” he said.  It looked like he was about to hug me, but then it seemed he thought better of it, not wearing a shirt as he was.

       “You don’t _really_ smell bad,” I said, sidling up for a quick side hug.  “But you are sweaty!” I exclaimed, when my hand contacted his back.

       “Sorry, lass, it’s humid, and I just jogged to Jabo and back!  One more mile to go!” Jamie grinned, as he headed out the door.  I didn’t mean to, but I followed him to the corner of the house, observing the muscles in his back ripple as he swung his arms, jogging down the road.

      I shook my head in wide-eyed admiration as I watched him lope away, then returned to my apartment.

 

      Frank and I had occasionally had to be apart through our relationship.  Occasionally, he’d be away on sabbatical, and when I did my clinicals and practicums, there were a few times I had to stay in rural areas so that I could see the whole range of patient issues I would be dealing with as a nurse practitioner.  And when we were apart, without the option of being intimate together, I was quite comfortable taking care of business myself. 

      Right now I felt short of breath and agitated, the buildup of desire heavy in my gut.  Spiders or no, I was quite positive I felt aroused enough at the moment to take care of some of the pressures of not being with my fiancé.

      I turned the cabin light off—there was still a little light coming in through the curtains, but no longer the harsh glare of fluorescents.  I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes.

> _Frank had a secretive smile on his face.  “You want to spend a little time together, babe?” he asked.  “You look really sexy tonight.”_
> 
> _“Of course,” I said.  “Just let me finish doing these dishes.”_

      _Dammit_ , I thought.  _Not sexy enough_.  Maybe that weekend in Cape Cod, when we rented that cute little cabin with a view of the ocean, the weathered cedar shingles contrasting with the white of the trim, the sapphire ocean, the blue sky. 

> _He walked toward me in his boxers, his slender shoulders, lean chest, and pale white stomach glowing in the light of the lamp._

      Huh.  That wasn’t good either.  _And not nice, Claire_ , I said.  _You’re really white when you’re naked, too._ I closed my eyes and concentrated again. 

> _“You’re a virgin?  You’ve never done this with anyone?”  Jamie was alert and ready, wide-eyed and astonished, as I unbuttoned my dress and let it fall to the floor._
> 
> _“Oh, ye’re gorgeous, Ripālle,” he said, reaching his hand out to me, his sculpted muscles rippling.  “I dinna ken how to do this.  Will ye be patient wi’ me, please?”_
> 
> _“I’ll take care of everything,” I said.  I walked to him, straddled him on the bed, and ran my fingers through his wild mop of red hair._
> 
> _“Oh, Jamie, I want you so bad…” I said, as he gently reached for my breasts._

      I suddenly realized there was a knocking at the door.  _What the fuck?_   I thought, feeling frustrated and thwarted.

      I walked across the floor, opened the door, and stuck my head out, fully expecting a neighborhood child, or someone who had shown up early for clinic.

       “Why’re yer lights off, Ripālle?” Jamie asked, confused.  “Are ye trying to lure the spider out of his hiding place?”

      Even there was no way for Jamie to know what I had just been doing and he couldn’t see into my head, I felt a sudden flush come across my face.

       “Ye all right, Claire?” Jamie asked.  “Yer very red, and ye seem out of breath!  Did you find the spider?” he looked past me as if to see.  “Do ye need me to get it for ye?”

       “No.  How can I help you, Jamie?” I finally had the presence of mind to ask.  “You just left.”

       “Oh, I forgot to ask if you wanted to come to our Samhain party tonight.”

       “Sow waan?” I asked, stupidly.

             “Samhain,” he repeated, as if he was correcting me, but it sounded exactly the same.  “It’s a Scot holiday.  Like yer American Halloween?  They dinna do anything here on Arno, but we like to have a bit of fun, and thought ye might like it, too.”

       “Sure,” I said.  “What time?  What should I bring?”

       “Five?  Come before sundown, anyway.  As for what to bring, we’re going to fry up some breadfruit to make chips.”  At my empty expression, he said, “French fries, Ripālle?”

       “Yeah,” I said, with a deep breath and a resigned sigh.  “That sounds good, Jamie.”  Real Jamie was hot.  But he was innocent, and sweet, and I doubted I’d be able to get myself back where I had been just a few minutes before.

      He was walking away.  “Do ye have any apples still, Ripālle?”

       “Yeah,” I said.  I’d been hoarding them in the two weeks since I arrived.  “Only five left, but I guess I can bring four of them.”

       “Well,” Jamie said, “Ye can use the peel to divine who ye’re going to marry.  Should be fun.”

       “Oh,” I said.  “I just had a thought.  I can make a batter for fish, if you catch any big enough to filet.  We could have fish and chips.”

       “Now that is a good idea,” he said.  “Do ye have more oil?  If we’re doing all that frying, we’ll need it.”

       “I’ll bring it along,” I said. 

      As I closed the door behind me, I sighed and smiled.  Jamie’s ironically timed arrival had saved me from a little bit of emotional unfaithfulness, and despite my physical frustration, friendship was probably preferable to lust.

 

      When I arrived at the boys’ house that evening, I went around the side yard.  Rupert was piling up a bunch of wood and branches, and grinned and waved at me.  I went into their house after knocking briefly.  Jamie was in the kitchen already, slicing breadfruit into long rectangles with a sharp knife, then dropping them in batches into a tall-sided pan on the stove, partly filled with sizzling oil.

      Angus directed me proudly to a baking dish filled with pale pink fish filets, which he said he had boned and filleted.  Jamie produced a second pot to which I added my oil, letting it heat up while I stirred together the batter mix with some water, and made quick work of frying up the fish. 

       “At a real Samhain celebration, we’d have to recite poetry before eating,” Rupert said, coming in to the delicious smells of fish and fried breadfruit, “But there’s no way I’m letting these delights cool down before eating them!”

      We gathered around their table, and with lots of salt and malt vinegar, enjoyed the _almost_ Scottish supper.

       “So,” said Rupert, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach.  “Now that I’m full, it’s time for dinner entertainment.  Ye don’t happen to have any poetry in yer memory, do ye, Claire?”

       “I have most of one memorized,” I responded.  “It’s ‘Two Roads’ by Robert Frost.”  They looked at me blankly.  “Well, he’s an American poet, so I guess you might not be familiar with his name, but you might recognize the poem…  Two roads diverged…”

       “Stop!” said Angus.  “Ye need to stand.”

      I rolled my eyes, walked over to the kitchen, and turned to face them.  “I don’t know it perfectly, and I can’t guarantee I’ve memorized it all.”

       “Get on wi’ it,” teased Jamie.  “None of us are orators.”

       “Okay,” I said, closing my eyes to try to remember how it started.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler  
Long I stood, and gazed at one as far as I could  
To where it bent in the undergrowth  
Then took the other as just as fair  
Though having perhaps the better claim  
Because it was grassy and wanted wear  
But as for that, the traveling there  
Had worn them really about the same…”

       “So,” I said, “Notice that the poem really says the roads are about the same.  But people tend to remember the last stanza, not realizing that what the poem says is that which choice you should make isn’t always clear!”

       “So finish it, then,” said Angus impatiently.  “I think it’s a little familiar.”

“I shall be telling this with a sigh  
Somewhere ages and ages hence,” the boys joined me on the last lines  
“Two road diverged in a wood and I…  
I took the road less traveled by  
And that has made all the difference.”

      Rupert, Angus, and Jamie clapped as I made a deep curtsy and went back to my seat.

       “My turn!” exclaimed Angus, getting up and clearing his throat.  He squared his shoulders and looked off into the distance as he recited:

There once were three men from Loch Garry   
Named Harry and Larry and Barry.   
Now Larry was bare   
As an egg or a pear   
But Harry and Barry were hairy

      The rest of us groaned, but clapped all the same.  Rupert got up with similar fanfare, bowed, and performed with extreme flourish:

Catriona, a pretty young lass   
Had a truly magnificent ass.   
Not rounded and pink   
As you possibly think   
It was grey, had long ears, and ate grass.

       “The best one of all,” I exclaimed as I clapped, and Rupert grinned.

       “I havena gone yet,” said Jamie.  His face looked a little flushed, but the apartment _was_ hot.  “This one is by Robert Burns, Scotland’s own poet.  And fer Claire’s sake, I’m going to translate it into _American_.”

      I rolled my eyes in response.

       “It’s called ‘Oh Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast,’” Jamie said.  He started his poem, and he spoke quietly, and his gaze often landed on me.

 

O were you in a cold blast,  
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,  
My plaid to the angry airt,  
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.  
Or did misfortune's bitter storms  
Around you blow, around you blow,  
Your shelter should be my bosom,  
To share it all, to share it all.

Or were I in the wildest waste,  
So black and bare, so black and bare,  
The desert would be Paradise,  
If you were there, if you were there;  
Or were I monarch o' the globe,  
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,  
The brightest jewel in my crown  
Would be my queen, would be my queen!

      I stared at him as he finished.  “That’s like, something you would read at a wedding,” I said, and thinking of Frank, I teared up.  “Robert _Burns_ , you said?”

       “Now, Lass,” said Rupert.  “We didna bring ye here to make ye cry…where are those apples?”

      I went looking for them, as Rupert grabbed four paring knives from the kitchen.

       “Okay,” said Rupert.  “Now we will peel the skin off the apple in one long spiral, and don’t let it break!  We’re going to tell the future.” 

       “There was one line in your poem that I didn’t understand, Jamie,” I said, as we sat back down at the table.  “It said, ‘my plaid to the angry airt.’  Is it talking about a kilt?  Like plaid fabric?”

      Angus shook his head sadly.  “Ye are absolutely Scot illiterate, young lass.”

       “You guys are teachers, so teach me,” I said. 

       “ _Tartan_ is the fabric,” said Jamie.  “And each clan has its own special tartan.  Fraser, and Mohr, and MacKenzie.  All different.”

       “But isn’t that what _plaid_ is?” I asked.

       “ _A_ ‘plaid,’ lassie, is like a wool tartan blanket,” said Jamie.  “It was often pleated or gathered and buckled in with the kilt, and could be loosened to wear as a cloak or jacket.  And “airt” means direction, like on a compass.  So the line in the poem, ‘my plaid to the angry airt,’ means that he’ll take his plaid and turn his back to where the angriest wind is coming from, and shelter her.’”  He raised his eyebrows and looked at me.

       “That’s really sweet,” I said, choking a little, breaking eye contact and picking up my apple.  “So now we do some fortune telling? Samhain is a complicated holiday!”

      We all focused on peeling our apples, and Angus quickly gave up, after his peeling broke three times.  “I think that means I’m going to marry three lasses named Ingrid, Isabel, and Irene,” he said, looking down at the three short straight sections of peeling on the table in front of him. 

      Jamie, Rupert, and I fared better.  Rupert was the first to throw his apple peeling, and it came out looking like a Q.  We could only think of “Quinn” as a possible name, and as Rupert wasn’t acquainted with any Quinns, the teasing couldn’t go far.

       “Throw yours over your shoulder, Claire,” said Rupert.  I obeyed, and then turned around to cock my head and peer at the peeling. 

       “That doesna look like an F, Claire,” said Rupert.  He didn’t say it, but it most definitely looked like a J.

      Jamie was last to go, tossing his peeling in the air, after which we all looked behind him.  His peel had flung outward and unrolled almost completely, into a gigantic ‘C.’

      I needed to get out ahead of this.  “U.”  I said.  “Ursula?  Uma?  Unique?”

       “Ah,” said Jamie.  “Definitely Ursula.  Ye remember, boys—the one we used to see at mass?”

      Rupert and Angus were filled with lustful memories, apparently, and Jamie made grateful eye contact with me.  Neither of us much liked being teased about each other, certainly.

      After our fortune-telling, we headed out to the yard, where Rupert built up the bonfire and we all gathered on the grass around it.  Jamie had brought a quilt out from their apartment, and he scooted to the side so I could sit next to him.

       “So, now’s the time for scary stories,” said Angus.  When none of the rest of us volunteered, he said, “Culloden Moor is the place where the highland culture died.  The bloody Battle of Culloden took place there, just miles from Inverness, where over a thousand died in less than a hour.  And on every April 16, should ye go there, you’ll see visions of ghosts, even a highland warrior in a kilt, and people swear up and down that if you are still, you’ll hear the sounds of swords clashing.”

       “Highland culture died there?” I asked, knowing instantly as the words left my mouth that I’d created another opportunity to be ridiculed.

       “Aye, after the Jacobite rebellion,” answered Jamie.

      "What was that?” I asked, inwardly kicking myself for not just nodding and smiling.

       “That was when the Jacobites wanted to restore the Stuart monarchy,” he explained.

       “What would that mean?” I shook my head as the guys exchanged wide-eyed glances of disdain.  “I’m sorry!  I just don’t know anything about Scotland!”

       “Ah, we’ll forgive ye,” said Rupert.  “Yer sweet enough to look at that we’ll keep ye around, even if yer thick as a post.”  Jamie grinned down at me.

       “So, what story do you have?” I asked him.

       “I always liked it when my dad told me about the Selkies.  In Scottish folklore, Selkies are seals when they’re in the water, but they’re humans when they’re on dry land.  So astonishingly beautiful, that they’ll leave you pining after them, lovesick for the rest of your days.”

       “Aye,” said Rupert.  “I read somewhere that the Selkies are ‘eternally lustful,’”  He shook his head slightly.  “Though, that did make it a little disturbing for me to visit the aquarium or the seaside.  I didna quite know how I should feel about those cuddly little seals!”

       “Do ye have any scary stories, Claire?” Angus asked.

       “Well, growing up Christian like I did, my mom and dad didn’t care for ghost stories or things like that, but my older sister Amy and I did tell scary stories to our little sister Shelly.”

       “How so?” Jamie asked.  I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination, but I could swear he was sitting closer to me than he had been a few minutes before.

       “Well, Amy hid up on the top shelf of the closet, and I told Shelly that the boogeyman lived in her closet.  And while I told her, Amy pushed and pulled the door open and shut, so that Shelly totally believed us.  She still won’t forgive us, and she’s twenty.

       “You’re cheeky,” said Jamie, bumping me with his shoulder.  “That’s funny, but what a horrible thing to do!”

      I was yawning at that point, so I got up, and Jamie was quick to volunteer to take me home.

      We walked in silence most of the way, the stars above us, the sound of the gentle waves of the iar off to the right.  As we passed various homes, we could hear people talking and laughing, could see the glow of lanterns.

      Again, we kept bumping into each other, as if there was a magnet drawing us together.  “May I?” Jamie asked, and I gently slipped my arm around his waist as he put his around my shoulders.

       “You know we shouldn’t be walking together alone at night,” I said to him.

       “I ken it,” he said, quietly.  “But what I know, and what I want, are two very different things.”

      He held me for a minute at my door step, kissed me on the forehead, and then bid me goodnight.

       “Sleep tight,” he said.  “Don’t let the spiders bite.”

       “Jamie!” I groaned, as he disappeared into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Creepiest spiders, ever, with a leg span as wide as your hand. Thanks, Peg, for the reminder! I’m the horrible sister who made my little sister forever afraid of the dark. That was my memory, my misquotes in the “Two Roads Diverged” poem—I’d forgotten a whole stanza, so I left it out.
> 
> That Robert Burns poem killed me. Isn’t it perfect for Claire and Jamie?
> 
> And after hearing about “Selkie Island” in season 3, it was fun to research and realize that a Selkie is a mythical creature, not just another word for seals.
> 
> Sources Consulted  
> http://www.rampantscotland.com/features/limericks.htm  
> http://www.heartoscotland.com/Categories/scottish-love-poems.htm  
> www.ebooks.visitscotland.com Ghosts, Myths, and Legends  
> Wikipedia-“Tartan”


	11. Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sneak peek of the "Island Fever" book... Brand New Chapter 11
> 
> I have been sort of silent on the boards, not posting new chapters for a while. I am working on about 6 chapters for book 2 all at the same time, but I've been spending more time revising "Jimjeran" with a reader's eye. Posted and read once a day, the engagement seemed to fit with the storyline, but if you're a reader reading the book straight through, it feels sudden. Every day the story gets better, with being able to see into Carlie (Claire's) head and experience this along with her. I'm getting frightened, trying to talk myself out of publishing--but trying and failing is better than not trying at all. :)
> 
> I've got the readers of AO3 mentioned on my Dedications page. I would never have come this far without you, so I wanted to share this brand-new chapter that continues to flesh out Claire & Jamie's attraction to each other.
> 
> I realized the story needed more exposition--more events leading up to the proposal--that would make her desire to marry Campbell (Jamie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter happens after "Geckos and Spiders and Jamie, Oh My" and before fish and pizza--"A Beautiful Doughy Ball." In it, Claire has recognized she's attracted to Jamie, and his desire for her is getting more obvious. Which makes Angus telling her to stay away from Jamie more understandable in "Scar Stories."

"After clinic today, I will visit my sister in Matolen,” Sharbella said.  “Do you wish to come with me and do home visits? It is five miles, but the truck will take us and it can also bring us back.”

I debated inwardly for a moment.  In the past weeks since arriving on Arno I had ventured out from Ine several times.  I had walked to Jabo, a mile and a half to the west, which was where Sharbella lived.  I had also walked at least a mile past the Serve Corps School which was already a mile in the other direction, searching for a place I could sunbathe. That had failed, for as soon as I peeled off my sundress and lay down on my towel in my bikini, excited little voices announced that I had been discovered. I pulled on the dress just in time to be surrounded by a whole group of kids, excitedly chattering at me and showing me a huge coconut crab they had found in the palm forest.

Matolen was all the way at the eastern tip of the islet, and though some of my patients had traveled that distance to come to the clinic, I had never been that far in that direction.

“I need to be back by seven to call the Serve Corps office in Majuro on the short-wave radio,” I said.

“Oh, we will be back by then,” she assured me.  “You will like to visit Matolen.  They have lime trees there, and many kind families.”

I locked up the clinic after making sure my bag was packed with all the incidental supplies I might need for house calls.  Soon after one, the town truck rattled up and Sharbella and I climbed aboard, finding a place to sit in the truck bed.

As we jounced along down the road, I smiled, my hair whipping wildly around my face.  I had forgotten a hair tie, so I swept my hair up, wrapped it into a bun, and twisted my hot pink curlicue key chain around it to keep it in place, the keys jingling as I did it.  Sharbella grinned at me, holding her long hair down with one hand.

It was too loud to talk, so I gazed around, noticing how the coconut palm forest seemed to be thicker and deeper on the southern side of the road.  Generally the road stayed close to the iar side, and the lagoon was often visible, though in places the trees and underbrush were thick enough that we couldn’t see it for a time.

My heart quickened a little as we passed the Serve Corps school, but I saw no sign of Jamie, Rupert, or Angus.

It was silly how exciting it felt to be whipping along the island road at a mere fifteen miles per hour, but it was practically a roller coaster thrill in comparison to the typical two-miles-per-hour, flip-flop pace I typically traveled.

In 20 minutes we reached the first houses of the village, and soon we arrived at the main village center.  If Ine was a city, Matolen was a suburb.  There was no store, no school.  It was simply homes, gardens, and copra smoking ovens.

The truck came to a stop in front of a nicely maintained house with a well-swept gravel yard and brightly painted sleeping windows.  I had asked Jamie on our _bwebwenato_ why Majel houses had long, low, horizontally hung plywood window covers that they propped open with sticks.  He had told me that the Marshallese people slept on pandanus mats on the floor.  The windows were low so that the breeze could blow over them as they slept.  Typically there were no screens on the windows, so open or closed, they were no protection from the prolific mosquitos.

“ _Iiokwe_ , Miss Peachay!”

I had been recognized, and quickly I was whisked from house to house by a woman Sharbella introduced as Jelōñ Botla one of the matriarchs of the village, well-versed in the ailments and challenges each resident faced.  She knew enough English that she was able to concisely express their needs, and for the better part of two hours, I was kept busy with patient after patient, occasionally being offered coconut juice to quench my thirst or salty dried fish which made me thirsty once more.

Finally Jelōñ brightly said, “ _Emōj kiiō_.”

“ _Bwe_?” I asked.  I had learned that meant, “What?” and was an easier thing to say than _Ijjab malele_ (I don’t understand).

“We are finish now,” she said.  “You come our house, eat.”

I followed her back to the house I’d seen on arriving, and she brought out a mat for me to sit on in the yard.

“ _Kottar jiddik_ ,” she said. “In a little time will be ready.”

I sat there awkwardly for just a few minutes, but then a familiar little face came around the corner.

“Miss Peachay!” exclaimed Riti.  “You are at my house!”  She was followed by two other girls of similar age, whom she introduced as Hemity, her cousin, and Kabet, her sister.

“ _Itōk_ ,” said Riti.  “Come with us, Miss Peachay.  We make…” she wrinkled her forehead, obviously trying to think of the word in English, then shook her head.  “We show you.”

The girls led me across the road to a wide green field that on closer inspection was scattered liberally with delicate pink flowers.  They ushered me to a spot in the middle of the field, and we all sat down.

“What kind of flowers are these?” I asked.

“ _What_ ,” said Riti cheerfully.

“The flowers,” I said.  “What are they called?”

“ _What_ ,” Riti responded, furrowing her forehead and nodding at me.

“These,” I said, pointing down at the little bits of pink.  “What are they called?

“Oh!” Riti, Hemity, and Kabet dissolved into peals of giggles.

“No, Miss Peachay,” Riti said, picking up a flower and pointing to it.  “This flower is called _wūt_.  W-U-T.  _Wūt_ ,”

“But isn’t that the word for _rain_?” I asked.

“ _Ejjab_ ,” Kabet replied.  “Rain is _wōt_.  W-O-T.  Flower is _wūt_.”

I put my hands to my head and shook it, making my key chain hairband jingle.  “I can’t hear the difference!” I exclaimed.  As far as I could tell, both words sounded exactly the same.

The girls giggled at me and then each picked a flower.

“ _Lale_ , Miss Peachay,” said Hemity. “Watch now.”

They pinched the petals off at the base and gently lay the five pink ovals on their skirts, stretched out in front of them.  Then picking up a single petal, they licked it and then pressed it to their fingernail where it stuck, like a delicate little press-on nail.

“You do, too, Miss Peachay,” said Kabet, gesturing toward the flowers in front of me.  I smiled, picked a flower, and began the fragile task of trying to get new petals to stick on my fingernails without making the previous faux nails fall off.

I relaxed in their presence, not feeling the need for constant conversation, focusing on the task, on the warmth of the sunshine on my back, surrounded by beauty both floral and feminine.

My manicure was almost finished when I heard a horrible clanking squeal.  I looked up to see a rickety, rusty bike traveling up the road.  And on the bike was Jamie.

“Meester Shamie!” called out Hemity.  “ _Itōk! Lale_ the fingers of Miss Peachay.”

Jamie dismounted his junk heap and gently picked his way through the flowers to where we were sitting.  He squatted down next to me.

“Let me see, Miss Peachay,” he said, holding out his hand, palm up.  Though the three girls were right there I extended my hand and gently placed it on his.

“ _Aiboojoj_ ,” he said, gently squeezing, then releasing my hand.  At the question in my eyes, he translated, “Beautiful!”

“Why you come to Matolen, Meester Shamie?” Riti asked.

“I needed to tell the parents about their naughty children,” he joked, grinning back at her.  “About how badly they are doing in school, how they aren’t finishing their work, how they talk all the time, and how they do not respect their teacher.”

Riti pouted at him.  “Meester Shamie. _Kwō nana_.  You like to tease us bery much.”

“ _Kwōn mōña ipem_ ,” the girls told him firmly.  “You will eat with us.”  They got up from their spots.

“We must help my mother,” Riti said. “You come soon.”

The three girls trailed off, holding their arms out stiffly with their fingers stretched wide, like a trio of women leaving the nail salon.

“Jamie Fraser,” I said, meeting his eyes and then looking away.  It had been a couple of days since Samhain, and since then my night watchmen had been Rupert and then Angus.  Samhain, when Jamie had walked me home with his arm around me; when he had held me just a little longer than necessary on my doorstep.

When I glanced back at him, he was blushing and looking at the flowers around him.  “Do you get your nails done in the states?” he asked.

“Not often,” I responded.  “A nurse is constantly washing her hands, using latex gloves, holding things.  My fingernails get chipped too quickly if I get a manicure, so it’s a waste of money.  I do pedicures more often.”  I extended my feet to look at them.  “Though my toes are looking woeful these days.  It’s been six weeks at least, I think.”

Jamie looked at my feet, then back at me with a small smile quirking his lips.

“My sister Isla used to do that to me.  And then force me to paint her toenails as well.”

“My little brother Seth had his nails and make-up done a time or two, I admit,” I replied.

“How old is he?  Your ‘little brother’?” Jamie asked.

“I thought I told you,” I said.  “He’s twenty-two.”

Jamie flushed again.  “How old were you when he was born?” he asked casually, gazing away from me over the flowery field.

“Old enough to change his diapers,” I offered, biting my lip teasingly.

“You were a very talented one-year-old, then,” joked Jamie.  “Two-year-old?  _Three_ -year-old?”

I shook my head and rolled my eyes.

The girls were waving to us from a distance, so Jamie got up and offered me a hand.

Throughout supper something seemed strange to me.  The little girls gathered around me, wanting to be with me and ask me questions, while Jamie seemed perfectly happy to carry on serious conversations in Marshallese with the other adults, paying absolutely no attention to me at all.  I tried to tell myself I was being petty for wanting to monopolize Jamie’s attention, but I did feel oddly envious.

I got distracted from my jealousy by my delightful little companions, though.  They took me out to their orchard and let me pick a small woven basket full of tiny green limes, a nearly-ripe papaya, and then gave me a small hand of the tangy petite bananas that grew on Arno.

“The limes are bery good with salt,” said Kabet.  When we got back to the house she cut one lime into wedges which we sprinkled with salt and then sucked.  I grinned across the house at Jamie, whose eyebrows were raised.

“Where’s the tequila?” he joked, then went back to his conversation.

After playing a game with the girls that was remarkably like jacks but involved tossing a handful of small pebbles up and trying to catch as many of them as possible on the backs of our hands, I realized with a start that the late afternoon shadows were no longer stretching across the yard. It must be at least six, and I needed to get back to the clinic by seven.

“Oh!” I exclaimed.  “I need to catch the truck back to Ine.”  Several faces turned to me with apologetic expressions.

“I’m sorry, Miss Peachay,” said Jelōñ.  “The truck is gone already.”

“Well, fuck,” I said, instantly realizing my error when the word came out.  But since I hadn’t said “puck,” the only one who realized I’d sworn was Jamie, who winked at me.

“I’d better start walking, then,” I said.  “It’s going to take me a couple of hours to get home.”

“You can ride the bike and I’ll jog,” said Jamie, getting up.  “ _Iokwe, aolep_.”

We left amid cries of “ _iokwe,”_ out to the field where Jamie had left the rusty bike.  He pulled it up by the handles and gestured for me to take it.

I eyed it skeptically, then looked down at myself.  I was wearing one of my longer, looser dresses.

“You could tie the front and back of your skirt together between your legs so it doesn’t get caught in the chain,” Jamie offered.  I followed his instructions but ended up with what looked like clown pants that didn’t allow my feet to move enough to pedal the bike.

Jamie stood back, looking at me and then at the bike.  There was a metal basket attached to the handlebars.  He looked at the basket, then at my ass, and then up at me.

“You don’t really think…” I said.

Jamie took my tote bag from me and placed it in the basket, spreading the edges of the fabric over the metal.  I stopped him, pulling the fragile papaya and bananas from the bag. He climbed onto the bike and then offered me a hand.  “Make sure your skirts don’t catch in the front wheel,” he said.

I sat on the handlebars, my legs extending over the basket, which made me lean backward, almost against Jamie’s chest.

It was incredibly awkward until Jamie picked up speed, and then the bike, noisy as it was, provided a speedy enough ride.  It was jiggly, though, and realizing Jamie’s view over my shoulder I felt awkward, which inspired me to start singing, the rutted road providing a trilling vibrato. “You are my s-u-u-u-un-shine, my only su-u-u-un-shine…”

From beside my ear harmonized a perfectly pitched bass voice.

“You sing, Jamie?” I exclaimed happily, then continued singing.  “You make me ha-a-a-a-appy, when skies are gra-a-a-ay…”

After a mile or so, he brought the bike to a stop. “I’m getting a neck ache from trying to see over ye.  Hike your skirts up, Claire,” he directed.  When I stared at him, he explained.  “So you can bike for a while, and I’ll jog.”

That seemed to work for probably two miles, and then we came to a stop again. I couldn’t handle any more uncomfortable seated positions, and the rust on the bike chain made pedaling twice as hard as it should have been.

“It’s less than two miles from here,” I said.  “You go on.  I can walk.”

“Nah,” Jamie insisted.  “Don’t ye think it’s more interesting to experiment with different positions?” He blushed, shaking his head as he realized what he’d said.

I noticed then that the bike had pegs on the back wheels.  “I could try standing on those and hold onto your shoulders,” I suggested.

It worked.  I was able to perch on the pegs while Jamie sat on the seat and I leaned forward with my hands on his shoulders.  In almost no time at all we went speeding by the Serve Corps school, and five or ten minutes later we were pulling up in front of the clinic.  The last glowing rays from the sunset were visible over the palm trees on the ocean side.

“Have we made it in time?” I asked.  “I’m supposed to call Dougal on the short-wave radio at seven.”

“Aye,” Jamie said glancing at his watch.  “With minutes to spare.”

“Now if I can just remember how to use the radio,” I mused. I had turned toward my house and Jamie had turned his bike toward the school when I impulsively exclaimed, “Don’t leave yet.  Come hang out with me. Help me call Dougal.”

Jamie looked at me, a frown on his face.

I sighed. “Is it really going to hurt anything for us to just hang out?”  I gestured toward my neighbors’ house.  “Maria went with Metao to Majuro. No one will hear us talking.”

“Well, you shouldna speak to me when you’re with Dougal on the radio,” Jamie warned me.

“Sure,” I agreed.  As I stood at my door, I had a moment of panic.  _My keys._  I picked up my bag and started to look through it.

“Are ye looking for something, _Ri-pālle_?” Jamie asked.

“My keys,” I said desperately.  “I can’t get into my house without them.”

Suddenly I felt a tug on my hair, heard a jingle, and my hair started falling out of its bun.  I put my hand up to keep it in place and turned to Jamie crossly, only to see him standing there, amused, his hand reaching out to me holding my hot pink curlicue keychain.  I took it from him, rolled my eyes, and unlocked the door.

“Remember,” Jamie said nervously.  “Don’t talk to Dougal as if I’m here.”

I nodded and with another look around to see if there were any people to see us, we entered the apartment.  Jamie fussed with the knobs and dials of the shortwave radio, and in a few minutes I heard the staticky sound of Dougal MacKenzie’s voice.

Our conversation was brief.  I reported on the number of patients, births, and the amount of money paid for services.  Payment was optional in this impoverished community, but still people would bring change or gifts of food.  I shared a quick list of needed supplies, and then signed off.

When I turned from the radio, Jamie was looking at me.  I almost thought he was looking at me _hungrily_ , but I didn’t want to misinterpret his expression.

“ _Ri-pālle_ ,” he said.  “I ken ye think it’s silly, but I dinna feel comfortable being here in your apartment at night.”

“Can we talk outside, then?” I asked.  “I don’t want you to leave yet. My evenings are so empty.”

He smiled compassionately.  “Aye.  But we’ll be devoured by mosquitos.  They’re out in force until at least an hour after dark.”

I went searching through the boxes under the bed left by previous occupants and came up with a large mosquito net. Looking around the apartment, Jamie eyed the two benches flanking the kitchen table.

“Do ye have a quilt?” he asked.  I carried the bulky net and blanket while Jamie stacked the benches atop one another and carried them out together as if the heavy wood weighed nothing.  We located a level grassy spot in the middle of the field beside the clinic.  I spread out the quilt, and Jamie placed the benches on either side of it.  Then we lay the mosquito net over the benches, tucking it underneath the legs of the benches so that it wouldn’t slip.

Then, trying to quiet our laughter, we crawled into our makeshift tent from the foot end, lay down on the quilt, and looked up at the night sky, our view of the stars only slightly occluded by the mosquito net.

“So, Claire,” asked Jamie.  “Where are you from?”

I laughed.  “That’s a tough one.  I was born in Germany.  My dad’s in the Air Force.  I lived there, then in Japan, then on Guam, and finally settled in Denver.  I guess I would call that home now.”

“And you told me once about your family.  You have—two sisters and one brother?”

“Yes.  There’s Amy, who is two years older than me.  Seth is younger, and then Shelly is the youngest.  She’s nineteen, almost twenty.”

It was getting chillier.  I wasn’t touching Jamie at all, but I found myself scooting closer so I could feel the heat radiating from his side.

I turned over and tried to push the quilt into shape where my head had been. “Stupid rock,” I said. “I can’t seem to escape it.”

“Use my arm,” Jamie offered, extending it out to my side of the quilt.

It was what I wanted in my heart, but for a moment I hesitated _.  Alone with boys at night,_ my mom always had said. _That's a recipe for disaster_. My heart was thudding in my ears as I reclined against him, snuggling into his side, my head nestled on his chest. Unintentionally I hummed a contented sigh.

Jamie sighed, pulling me closer.

“The girls asked why you came to Matolen today,” I mused.  “You never really told them, and then you left when I did.”

Jamie was quiet.  I could hear the whine of mosquitos around the net, desperate to get at us, and the faint sound of the waves lapping on the sand of the lagoon beach.  “Because you were there,” he said quietly.

Now it was my turn for silence.

“I think my heart must be pounding, Claire,” he admitted. “I canna hide it, so I might as well be honest with you. But I also know you're engaged and I ken you aren't free. I'm sorry that what I know to be true doesna stop me from… wanting you.”

“I understand,” I sighed, turning toward him slightly.  I snuggled more firmly toward him, pressing into his warmth to escape the chill of the night air. _Stop messing with his mind_! my logical side screamed at me.

“I like being close to you,” he murmured.

“I like it too, Frank,” I said.

The silence was deafening.

I was embarrassed, amused, mortified, yet unsurprised. I’d spent enough time thinking about being with Jamie; no wonder my mind had mixed him up with Frank.

Jamie came up on his elbow and stared at me, his face impenetrable.

My heart was racing. _Kiss me, dammit_ , I begged inwardly. I tried to telegraph the message with my eyes. Couldn’t he see it? I knew he wanted me.  If _he_ kissed _me_ I wouldn’t be cheating, would I?—not as much anyway…

Jamie was breathing shallowly, his forehead wrinkled as if he was deeply pondering. He inched closer to me, then reached out his hand to stroke my cheek. With his thumb he gently traced my bottom lip.

" _Mo ghraide_ ," he whispered. " _Tha mo chridhe a 'buntainn riut_."

“What does that mean?” I asked casually. His pupils were wide. I could almost sense that it was taking superhuman strength for him not to kiss me.

“I canna tell you,” he said sadly. “You’re _engaged_.  You dinna want to know. You _can't_ know.”  Finally Jamie sat upright, lifting the mosquito net with him.  He sat with his arms draped around his knees, his back toward me. “Oh, Claire,” he finally sighed.  “I need to go. I can’t be doing this.  What kind of man am I being?”

“We can still be friends, can’t we, Jamie?” I begged, propping myself up on my elbows.  “I didn’t mean to call you that.  It’s like a parent calling their kid the wrong name.  I know who you are.  I know Frank is my fiancé. But I appreciate you too much, I _need_ you too much for us not to be friends at all.”

Jamie put his fingers on his temples and massaged his forehead. He sighed, then set his shoulders determinedly. “Yes, Claire. Friends,” he responded in a resolute voice. “We can be friends.”

I stood up, wrapping the mosquito net into a messy ball as Jamie folded up the quilt.  He handed it to me and silently picked up the benches.  We walked to my apartment, Jamie returning the benches to their spots beside the kitchen table. Then he turned and looked me up and down one last time.

I stepped toward him. “Will you hug me, at least?”

“I can’t,” Jamie said, slowly shaking his head.  “Not tonight. And perhaps we shouldna be alone, at least not for a while.”

With a sad half-smile lit by the faint light of the clinic, he turned to leave, picking up his bike at the side of the road.  As he retreated, I heard him slowly whistling the tune we’d sung together earlier in the evening.

 

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.  Please don’t take my sunshine away.”


	12. A Beautiful Doughy Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scots have Claire over for dinner, and she gets to go spearfishing for the first time.

     My third clinic week was at an end and I was cleaning up when I heard loud male voices getting closer and the crunch of gravel under flip-flops. 

      “We are feeding you tonight, Miss Peachay,” said Angus, grinning at me.  “Are ye done?  We can walk ye to our house.”

      “Jamie is a master at making pizza crust,” offered Rupert. “Ye’ll think you died and went to Italy.” 

      “We’ll wait for you,” said Angus. “Put on a swim suit under yer dress and bring shorts and snorkel gear. We’ll take ye spear fishing, too.” 

      “Fish and pizza?” I asked skeptically.

      “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, lassie,” said Rupert, grinning at me.  “And ye need to eat more.  Yer getting too skinny; we’ll work on fattening ye up.”  

     “Yeah, ye lose too much weight and yer paps’ll get too small,” said Angus.

      “Well, I won’t say no to pizza,” I said, ignoring Angus and locking the door to the clinic.  “Can I bring anything?”

      “D’ye have a can of olives?” Angus asked.  “Sausage?  Pepperoni?  Mozzerella cheese?”

      “You’re making pizza without cheese?” I said.

      “We have parmesan,” Rupert answered.

      “That’s not pizza!”  I said skeptically.

      “Well, if ye dinna have it, ye canna use it!” Angus shrugged.  “Really, it’s good.  Ye’ll like it.”

      “I’ll like not cooking,” I answered.  “I still have no idea how to cook for just one person when I don’t have a refrigerator.”

     When I returned from getting dressed, my beach bag in my hands (with my as-yet-unused snorkel, mask, and fins), Angus and Rupert were lazily resting in the grass in front of the clinic.  They hopped up as soon as they saw me, and we headed to their house.

     We chatted as we walked the mile to the school, our conversation frequently punctuated by enthusiastic children coming out to greet their teachers.  Gruff Rupert was a total teddy bear when he saw his first and second graders, and Angus kidded around with his middle schoolers.  It made me smile to see these acerbic characters sweeten when they were around children.

      “How long do you plan on teaching here?” I asked.

      “Dinna ken,” said Angus.  “’Tis a beautiful place and a good life.”

      “But what about marriage, family, kids?”

      “I’ve already got kids enough,” joked Rupert, trying to shake off the three or four little ones currently hanging from his arms.

     Watching the two, I supposed if they decided they wanted to be in some sort of extended adolescence, it was fine with me.  They both seemed older than Jamie, maybe closer to my own age if I had to hazard a guess.  And if I had responded to my desire to spend time in the Peace Corps earlier in my life, who knows whether I would have felt like going home, either.

 

      “So where are you going to bake this masterpiece?” I asked curiously, as we entered their apartment.  It seemed to me that without electricity, it would be kind of hard to bake anything.  So far I had only eaten things that I could fry or boil.

      “In the oven, of course,” answered Angus.

      “How do  _you_  have an oven?” I moved over to their kitchen to have a look at their set-up, which, it turned out, was quite a bit nicer than mine.

      “Propane,” said Angus.  “But we can make ye a little oven for your kerosene stove from a ship biscuit tin if ye have one.”

      “Or,” said Jamie, coming around the corner, “ye can come here if ye need to bake something.  And then ye can share it with us.  I hear we’re ‘hungry boys,’” he said, grinning. “Hey, Ripālle.”

     I stared at him.  He was shirtless, wearing just my sarong.  Tanned and well-defined, he was delicious to look at.

      “I’m never getting that back, am I?” I asked, gesturing toward the sarong. 

     Jamie looked at me apologetically. “I dinna think I _can_ give it back to ye,” he said. “It has put me in touch wi’ my past, wi’ my Highlander roots.”  

      “A Scot never feels so manly as when he is wearing a skirt,” Rupert stated seriously. 

      “Yes,” said Jamie, looking down. “Since my horrible injury, this sarong and I have bonded. I’m afraid it isna yers anymore.”

      “Well, you owe me then,” I said.

     “What payment will you be requiring?” he asked, eyeing me flirtatiously.  I had a few thoughts, but none of them were at _all_ appropriate.

      “Are you any good at building? I want to make some raised garden beds so I can try growing some fresh produce.” 

      “Aye,” said Jamie. “That I can do. Then I willna have to feel guilty every time I see ye and I’m still wearing your sarong.”

      “I hear ownership is much more fluid in the Marshall Islands,” I said, smiling at Jamie.  “Don’t be surprised if one day I show up and just take it back.”

      “Well, hopefully ye do that when he’s no wearing it.  Or at least wearing underwear,” said Angus.  He looked thoughtful for a moment, and added, “Which is _never_.”

     My gaze flashed to Jamie’s pelvis impulsively, and I looked away as quickly as possible.  Unfortunately, as far as I could tell, all three guys had seen me.  I shook my head and laughed.  “You boys are so nasty,” I said.  “Is it just that you can’t talk like this with the local girls?”

      “Aye,” said Angus.  “Not the local lassies, and we definitely canna talk like this wi’ our students.  We have to play dumb with them.”

      “Play dumb?” 

     Jamie had been opening cupboards and taking containers and bowls out, but he stopped and turned toward me.  With a smile, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter.  Then with wide, innocent eyes, he said, “Meester Shamie, what mean ‘bashina’?”  He looked expectantly at me.

      “I don’t know that word,” I said.  “Bah shine uh?  What is that?”

      “Fanny?” Jamie hinted.  I shook my head.  “Honeypot?”  he said.  I shrugged my shoulders, continuing to shake my head.  “A _va-gin-a_?” he finished, blushing.

      “Your students _ask_ you that?” I said, shocked. 

      “All the time.  Ye mightna have to pretend ye dinna understand, but I’ve gotten excellent at playing dumb,” he said.  “In Majol, the letters v, f, p, and b sound alike.  That’s why they call you Miss Peachay instead of Miss Beauchamp.  Instead of having “fun,” they have “pun.”  They will walk to the ‘billage’ instead of the village.  So they will ask me, ‘What mean ‘puck’?  What mean ‘ba-shina’? What mean ‘be-nice’?”

      “Be nice?”  I said, confused.  “I think I know what they mean by puck.  I get ba-shina.  But be nice?”

     Angus raised his eyebrows and with a subtle motion pointed downward toward his crotch.

      “Penis?”  I laughed.  “Wow.  They cannot pronounce that one.  Where are they seeing these words?  Because they’re definitely not hearing them.”

      “I don’t know.  Dictionary?” said Jamie, rolling his eyes.  “They find themselves very amusing, but get extremely frustrated when we don’t understand them.”

      “And we never seem to,” said Angus, grinning innocently.

      “I don’t have the same problem with mine,” Rupert said grumpily.  “They’re still busy overusing the Majol words for poop, pee, and fart.”

      “Pijek, raut, jiñ,” Angus called out, teasingly.

     Jamie had gone to the cupboards and brought the ingredients back to the kitchen table where I was sitting. Like the host of a cooking show, he narrated as he added the ingredients and began to mix and knead the dough.  It was quite enjoyable, watching his muscles ripple and flex as he moved, folding, stretching, and compressing the dough.

      “And you add just enough flour to keep it from sticking, and then you knead it until it makes a beautiful doughy ball!” he ended with a flourish, holding up the finished dough in his floury hands.

      “They really should have a show called the Shirtless Chef,” I said enthusiastically.

     Jamie looked over at me teasingly. “D’ye need me to put my shirt back on?” he asked. “Is that more than ye can handle?  ‘Twas just a hot day, and I’m in my own apartment.”

      “Nah,” said Rupert, looking at me with narrowed eyes. “I think she likes the view.”

Suddenly I felt a little embarrassed.  Was I that obvious?  “No, I’m fine,” I said.  “I’m just starting to feel kinda celibate.”

      “I’d be happy to help you with that, lass,” said Angus generously, clearly staring at my breasts.  

      “If I need assistance, Angus,” I said, smiling, “You’ll be the first to know.”

     Jamie put the dough into a bowl and covered it with a dishcloth.  “Okay,” he said.  “Let’s get ready to go spearfishing.  Claire, ye can change in my bedroom if ye want.”

     I ignored the suggestive smiles and went into his room with my bag, pulled off my sundress and put on a pair of shorts.  When I came out, Jamie stared at me. “Huh,” he grunted.

      “What?” I said.  Jamie’s grunts always meant something, and usually it was that I was doing something wrong.

      “I dinna want ye to feel like I’m always correcting ye, but yer not going to be able to wear those shorts outside,” he said, frowning down at my legs.

      “What?  Why?” I asked. 

      “Women’s shorts have to completely cover their thighs here,” he said matter-of-factly.  “Those don’t even cover them halfway.”

      “You’re not kidding!” I said, astonished.  “I don’t get it.  So far, I’ve seen countless women pull a boob completely out of their dresses to feed their babies in full view of everyone here. What’s the deal with thighs?”

      “Breasts are a sexual thing in American culture,” he explained. “No here.  Here, they’re just a source of food for babies.  On Arno, the erogenous area is the thigh.  Ye show yer thighs, and that’s like showing cleavage down to yer waist in America. Ye need to be covered to the knee.”

     I scoffed.  “Well, I guess I’m just going to have to stay here then. I didn’t bring another pair of shorts.”

      “Angus,” said Jamie, eyeing me up and down thoughtfully, “Go get Claire a pair of shorts.”

      “Why me?” Angus whined. 

      “Because you’re the smallest,” explained Jamie.  “Claire wouldna fit mine or Rupert’s shorts.”

     Angus wandered back with a pair of hideous orange things, so with one last glare at Jamie, I went back to his bedroom and put them on.

      “Happy?” I said, as I reappeared, the drawstring of Angus’s trunks tied firmly to keep them from falling off my hips.

      “Ye look perfect,” Jamie said, as he retreated to get dressed. 

     When the guys had on their swim trunks, they grabbed several long metal poles with thin black handle loops from the entryway.  Rupert had a net bag, and Jamie and Angus each clipped an oblong metal carabineer to the belt loops of their shorts.

     I was grateful for my beach bag, as Angus, Jamie, and Rupert all juggled their equipment in their arms.  Finally we reached the beach and dropped all the equipment.  I watched and copied as the guys grabbed some green leaves from a bush, spit into their masks, and rubbed the inside of the mask with the leaves.

      “What does this do?” I asked. 

      “Keeps the mask from fogging inside,” said Rupert.

     Once the masks were on their heads, they dipped their swim fins into the water and then slipped their feet inside.  They peeled off their shirts, grabbed their spears, and then started walking into the water. 

      “Here’s yours,” said Jamie, handing me a spear.

      “Really?”  I said, staring at him in disbelief. “You’re just going to set me loose in the ocean with a spear that I don’t know how to use?”

      “Aye, Ripālle,” he said.  “I should at least show you how to use it.  And the basic rule is, dinna pull it tight unless you’re paying full attention, and dinna release it if there’s a person in front of ye.”

     He showed me how to grip the rubber loop between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand.  He was left-handed, so we were mirror images of each other.  I watched and copied him as he stretched his hand up the body of the spear until the rubber band was stretched tightly.  When he let go of the spear, it sprung forward several inches.

      “It works even better underwater,” he said.  “The tube fills with water, so it has more momentum and hits harder.  Ye wait until ye have a fish just a few inches in front of the tip, and then ye release it.”

     Angus and Rupert were already chest deep in the water, but Jamie waited for me as I awkwardly flopped my way into deeper water.  When we finally got up to waist depth, Jamie showed me how to put my snorkel into my mouth, and then I lowered my face into the water. 

     The first thing I noticed was a strange crackling sound.  The ocean was noisier than I had thought it would be.  I had no idea what the source of the popping, snapping, sparkling sound came from, but it was unfamiliar, unlike swimming in a pool. 

     Our fins had stirred up the white coral sand underneath our feet, so when I put my face in the water, I couldn’t see a thing.  I’d taken just a few breaths when I started panicking.  I pushed myself out of the water, spit out the snorkel and stood, panting.  Jamie had begun swimming away, but I saw him looking around, and then he stood up as well.

      “What’s wrong, Ripālle?’ he asked, sloshing back toward me, water dripping down his torso and off the end of his copper curls.

      “I’m sorry, Jamie,” I said, holding my hand to my chest.  “I don’t think I can go.  Like, I started panicking.  With my face in the water I can’t see where I’m going and it’s hard to breathe through the snorkel.”

     “You can practice,” he said.  “It will get easier.”

     “I was afraid…because I felt all alone,” I said, embarrassed.

     “Come on, Claire,” he said reassuringly, gesturing to me.  “Itok, Ripālle.  I’m left handed, you’re right handed.  I’ll hold yer hand.”

     My hand firmly gripped in his, the ocean didn’t seem so overwhelming.  With swim fins on our feet, we didn’t really need our arms to propel ourselves speedily forward.  Pretty soon, the water was getting deeper and I began to see shiny flashes in the water ahead, and then the shadowy shapes of rocks and coral become clearer and clearer.

     Soon we were surrounded by schools of beautiful fish, like being at an aquarium or swimming through a tropical fish tank. There were bright orange fish, multi-colored striped fish, black angelfish with trailing yellow fins, and even a few tang that looked remarkably like Dory from Finding Nemo.  Suddenly I felt guilty; we were going to spear and eat these beautiful creatures?

     I noticed that Jamie was tugging me off to the left, so I patted his hand and let go of him.  I wasn’t feeling as afraid, and I’d gotten used to breathing just through my mouth.  I imagined we’d both be more successful if we weren’t attached, but still I tried to keep him in my line of sight and followed him as he headed toward a large coral formation.

     To prepare myself, I experimented with my spear a few times, seeing how far forward I needed to put my hand for the spear to spring about 6-8 inches when I released it.  Then I swam over to the coral and started looking for my first target. 

     I decided to look for the ugliest, plainest fish I could find.  Somehow it seemed like it wouldn’t be as mean to eat the ugly ones.  I was engrossed in my search, when a hand patted me on the shoulder, and when I looked, motioned upward. 

     The ocean wasn’t very deep; in fact, I was able to balance on the tips of my swimfins and touch the bottom.  Jamie pulled his snorkel out of his mouth. 

      “Think ye can do it?” he panted.  I nodded, not wanting to chance getting water in my mouth.  “If ye spear one, I’ll help ye get it off and put it on my stringer.”  I could see the metal ring hanging off his shorts with three bright fish strung on it. 

      “You already have three?” I exclaimed, spitting my snorkel out.

      “I’m experienced,” he grinned.  “I’ll stay wi’ ye.  Once ye’ve got one, I’ll start fishing again. We dinna need more than three or four per person.  They don’t keep long.”

     Knowing Jamie was watching me made me feel nervous, but I waited until a plain silver fish swam in front of my spear, and then released it.  The fish darted away, and the spear banged against the coral.   I tried again with the same result.  After three more failures, Jamie again motioned for me to surface.

      “Ye’ve got to anticipate it a little,” he advised.  “Shoot where it’s going, no’ where it is now.”

     The sixth time was a charm.  I launched the spear before the fish was right in front of the tip, and the sharp spear pierced it almost instantaneously.  Of course then I was excited, looked up to show Jamie, got salt water into my snorkel, breathed it, and started coughing.

     Jamie joined me as I sputtered at the surface and grinned at me with parental joy.  “Ye did it, Ripālle!  Good job!” He slipped the silver fish off the spear and passed his fish stringer through the its gills, clipping it again.  “Now, do it again.”

      “Aren’t you going to fish more?” I panted breathlessly.

      “I’ve done it plenty,” he said, smiling.  “And it’s making ye happy.”

 

 

 

  
[An Awesome Piece of Pizza Artwork by Cantrix_grisea! Click to go to her page to give her Kudos!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12996669)  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one "real" part of this story is the "beautiful, doughy ball!" On one trip to Majuro, a couple of guy friends had us over and made us pizza. They were so proud of their masterpiece, and those words were how they wrote down the recipe for us. And, one of the guys happened to be shirtless; and may I just say. . . :)
> 
> I haven't gone spearfishing, but it was strange to see beautiful fish (that you might see in a tropical pet store) barbecued up at fiestas. I liked snorkeling, though, and I have always felt that strange sense of isolation when I put my face in the water. It's always better with someone to hold your hand. :)
> 
> And it was my students who were constantly asking me, “What mean be-nice? What mean ba-shine-uh?” Still makes me laugh about playing dumb. They got so frustrated that I wasn’t offended!!


	13. Scar Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you're not just scarred by physical injuries.

      I was pretty giddy when we arrived back at the apartment, as I had caught three more fish. Rupert and Angus kindly admired my catch, though two of the fish were small and slightly mangled.

      I hadn’t done much swimming in ocean water, but my experience had been that salt water leaves a residue on your skin.  By the time we got back to their house I was feeling kind of ratty-haired and sticky.

       “I think I should go back home to shower and get changed,” I said. “I feel kind of salty and gross.”

       “No, you’ll use our shower,” insisted Angus. “You dinna want to have to walk an extra two miles just to be cleaned up for dinner.”

      That made a lot of sense, so I grabbed my towel and dress, with the distressing thought that I hadn’t brought along any extra underwear. While I figured I could put my swimsuit back on, I didn’t like the idea of walking around in wet clothes.

       “Can I pop in your room for a minute, Jamie?” I asked.

       “Sure,” he answered from the kitchen where he was punching down the dough. When I entered his room, I quickly took an assessment. Gingerly closing the door behind myself, I tiptoed over to his dresser. Opening the top drawer, I found a variety of briefs and boxers and finally chose a pair of black boxer briefs without a strange front hole.

      Attempting a breezy greeting as I passed the kitchen, I headed out to their shower. There was already a full bucket of water, which was nice, and they had some basic hair products there, so I had everything I needed. When I got dressed after my shower, it felt a little strange to put on Jamie‘s underwear, but it was better than the alternative.

      As I headed back to their apartment, I saw Angus outside, slicing each fish up the belly with a sharp knife and scooping out the innards.  Meanwhile, Rupert had been gathering sticks and building a fire in a little fire pit. When I looked at him curiously, he said, “Fish taste best barbecued over a fire.” It looked like he had a small metal grate with him, and a bottle of soy sauce.

      Back inside, I went into the kitchen to watch the chef at work.  Jamie was spreading tomato sauce and some thinly sliced pepperoni sticks over the pizza dough, which he’d rolled out to fit a rectangular pan.  That finished, he sprinkled it generously with Parmesan cheese and Italian herbs, and then stuck it in the oven. 

       “Barbecue time,” he said, smiling as he grabbed plates and headed outside.

      Just in front of the building, their apartment had a small shaded patio.  There were a couple of plastic chairs under the porch roof, and Jamie grabbed one to sit on by the fire.  Looking around, on the far side of their yard by the fire pit I saw a funny sling-like hanging chair, supported by a thick rope tied to a huge tree.  Settling myself in the swing, I watched as Rupert turned the fish over on the grate, their skins looking brown and blistered, splitting to reveal white flesh inside.

      I was staring up at the tree curiously when Rupert said, “Breadfruit.”  He pointed up through the branches to the bumpy green balls up in the tree. 

       “What does it taste like?” I asked, still leaning back in the swing, from which I could see the tall branches, large leaves, and numerous fruit.

       “They say it tastes like potatoes,” said Angus, who was squatting by the fire, “But I dinna agree.  I know better how potatoes taste.”

       “Well, I’ll have to try it sometime to decide for myself,” I said.  “How in the world do you pick them? They’re so high up!”

       “A rock and slingshot,” said Jamie, grinning.  “And quite a bit of skill.  That’s one thing I’ve yet to master; it’s quite impressive to see the locals take down a breadfruit with a single shot.”

      Rupert used a fork to put a few of the perfectly-cooked fish on each plate.  I inspected my first course with interest.  Still whole, pretty colors blistered and blackened, the fish had diagonal knife cuts along each side through which I could see flaky white meat. 

      Watching other people had turned out to be an important social skill on Arno; by observing the boys I saw that they were pinching hot pieces off with their fingers to eat. My fish stared at me blankly as I grabbed my first bite.  “Hey, thanks, buddy,” I said apologetically. 

      My little friend was delicious, fresh, with a mild flavor accentuated by the salty tang of soy sauce.  I began to feel less guilty for eating Dory and Nemo’s friend, though I could have done without his eye staring at me accusingly.

      With the coming of dusk, the mosquitoes arrived in force as well, so we retreated into the apartment, just in time to eat Jamie’s perfect pizza fresh from the oven.  The boys were right; lack of mozzarella didn’t detract at all.

      As we settled on their couches after finishing dinner, I looked down at my stomach. “I’ve got a food baby,” I groaned, looking down at the little bulge on my stomach.  Jamie had grabbed the seat next to me, and he reached over and patted my belly, taking me completely by surprise. 

       “We’ll name her Peshay,” he said.  At my confused expression he said, “P-E-S-C-E.  That’s Italian for fish. . .”

       “Aren’t you clever?” I laughed, scraping his hand off my stomach as subtly as I could.  His thumb was dangerously close to my braless breasts, and I was already feeling a little too much just sitting next to him. 

      It didn’t get any easier as the evening progressed.  Angus started spouting off about how Arno was traditionally known to have a “love school.” 

       “They would have girls lie in a canoe on the sea and feel the rocking of the waves.  That’s all the sexual education they would need to please a man,” Angus explained happily.

       “Seems to me I know a few things that lying in a canoe would not have taught me,” I said, skeptically.  When all three guys turned and stared at me with intense interest, I groaned and covered my face in embarrassment.  “I’m sorry.  You guys talk dirty, and it’s rubbing off on me.”

       “I’d be happy to rub off on you,” said Rupert.  Jamie reached over and punched him.  “Ow,” said Rupert, rubbing his shoulder in surprise.

       “So let’s not be sexist here,” I said.  “What happens if a man lies in a canoe?  Does he learn anything valuable?”

       “If it’s Jamie, he gets seasick and starts heavering!” Rupert said, glaring at Jamie.  “And he wouldna have much opportunity to practice what he learned anyway.”

      Jamie decided it was time to change the subject.  “So, Miss Beauchamp, you said you’d tell me about one of your scars,” he said.  “Have you decided which one?”

      I held out my leg and pointed at a small spot on my ankle.  “Five years old, riding on the handlebars of my dad’s bike.  My foot slipped between the spokes, mangled my ankle, and crashed his bike.  It hurt, and I remember my dad crying because he felt so bad, and that I got orange juice.  We didn’t have juice very often in my family,” I explained, when they seemed surprised at my memory of such an insignificant thing.  “Your turn, Angus.”

      He opened his lips and indicated his teeth.  “Two fake front teeth.  Summer camp counseling,” he said.

      That one took me by surprise and I laughed.  “One of your campers punch you in the mouth?”

       “No, just broke them out going down the waterslide headfirst.  Wouldna recommend it.”

       “Rupert?” I said.

      He pulled his shirt up and then his shorts downward.  When I looked away in surprise, he said, “Appendectomy.  Twelve years old.  Almost died.”

       “Thought you’d just muscle through the pain?” I asked.

       “Real men don’t need hospitals,” he joked.

       “Jamie?” said Angus.

       “This all started because I told Claire it wasna fair she was so familiar with the scar on my bum.”

       “I havena seen it,” said Angus.

       “Neither have I,” agreed Rupert.

       “Go for it,” I said, averting my eyes, as Jamie stood and unbuttoned his shorts, dropping the back down so Angus and Rupert could see it.  Both guys took a sharp intake of breath.

       “I didna realize how big it was,” Angus gasped.  “Yer arse, I mean.  That’s just a baby scrape.”

       “Good work, Miss Peach,” exclaimed Rupert, acknowledging the severity of the injury.  “It willna disfigure him for the rest of his life as I feared.  He might still be able to find himself a wife.”

      Jamie did his shorts back up, but when he sat down, he sat about a foot closer to me.  It didn’t escape Rupert’s notice.  He looked at us thoughtfully for a moment, then spoke.  “You know, there are rumors going around about you guys.”

       “What kind of rumors?” I asked, already knowing what the answer was going to be.

       “That the two of you have been hanging out alone, at night, in your apartment,” said Angus. Jamie and I exchanged an awkward glance.

       “Jamie has never been inside my apartment at night,” I said, realizing with chagrin as Jamie raised his eyebrows at me that wasn’t completely true.  The first time he walked me home he _had_ come in, had sat on my bed, held me on his lap…and needed a moment to recover before leaving. “Rupert has, though,” I said to change the subject.

       “Rupert’s been in your apartment?” complained Angus. “You never let _me_ in!”

       “Just to show me how see-through my curtains were when I was changing with the lights on inside.”

      Angus glared at Rupert.  “Ye told her?”

       “We never peeked at Miss Lynch, but after what I saw I thought I should let her know.”

       “Not fair at all,” grumped Angus, and Jamie gave me an impenetrable sidelong glance.

       “Well, on that note, I think it’s time for me to go home,” I said.  I gathered up my swimsuit, towel, and snorkel gear and put them in my bag.  When I got to the front door, Angus was there, tennis shoes on.

      I felt a slight sense of disappointment that it wasn’t Jamie.  I felt like I should talk to him.  But I couldn’t exactly express that, so I wished Rupert and Jamie good night.  As Angus and I walked down the road, I kept my distance from him, afraid he might try to make a move on me.  Finally he stopped me.

       “I can tell ye’re scared of me, Miss Peach.  What kind of guy do you think I am?” Angus asked.  “I may joke a lot, but ye can trust me not to lay a hand on ye.”

      We walked in silence for a time, and finally Angus spoke up.  “In all seriousness, Claire, ye do need to be careful.  Jamie got in enough trouble back in Scotland that he can’t currently go back there.  This is a safe place for him to be, he _loves_ it here, and he’s grown up a lot in the past four years.  For you this might just be a harmless fling, and you’ve got something to go back to if it falls apart, but if the two of ye get in trouble, Jamie’s got nothing to fall back on.”

       “What should I do then?”

       “Make yerself scarce.  Visit with the locals.  As much as I hate to say it, don’t bring us food.  And Rupert and I will try not to pull you in with us for a while.  Jamie could find a nice local girl to marry and just stay here forever.  Somehow I can’t see you settling down in a place like this.  It’s a low-tech vacation for you.  It’s not that for Jamie.”

      I felt nauseated when I got back to my house.  I said goodnight to Angus and went inside, where I sat in the darkness in my room.

      _What the fuck are you thinking, Beauchamp?_ I asked myself.  _You are engaged to Frank Randall, and here you are playing girlfriend to a young virgin.  What is wrong with you?_

      We were playing with fire.  With the increased intimacy of taking care of him and seeing him undressed; the silliness of sharing clothing (I realized I was still wearing his underwear); the emotional intimacy of Jamie listening to me and the physical intimacy of hugging; as well as my complete awareness of his erections…this wasn’t how you started a platonic friendship. And it wasn’t the way to stay faithful to Frank.

      I felt sick and devastated.  I wasn’t going to lose just a boyfriend; I was losing my best friend.

 

    _Jamie and I were in two separate canoes, tied together on the open sea._

_“Have you learned enough?” I asked him._

_I’m ready when you are,” he said._

_“Well, this is how you lose your virginity,” I told him._

_Suddenly we were in a middle school hallway.  I reached down and grabbed his hand and we walked down the hallway, kids turning and looking at us, pointing at our hands, and then giggling and whispering as they turned away._

_Then we were at a high school dance, our arms around each other.  I was wearing a wrist corsage; he looked overdressed in a tuxedo.  He leaned down and kissed me, our noses bumping awkwardly because we hadn’t learned to tilt our heads yet._

_Next we were in the backseat of a car with steamed up windows.  He had his hand up under my cheerleading uniform shirt, clumsily squeezing my breast while we awkwardly french-kissed, slobbering all over each other._

_I saw my floral print bedspread in my room at home with the door halfway closed, his back to the door and his pants around his ankles, and me on my knees in front of him.  I looked up at him and his head was dropped back, looking half-pained while I inexpertly tried to make myself and him feel good, gagging too easily and feeling ashamed afterward._

_And then in a dorm room, lights off, with my roommate on the top bunk wearing headphones, I gasped through his first touches, astonished by the feel of his hand between my legs.  And when I’d seen heaven during my first, shuddering orgasm, I generously told him, “Okay, just the tip,” and he managed to be satisfied with partial measures._

_Finally, we were out on a date—the third one—to a nice Italian restaurant.  We’d eaten, and walked, and talked, and laughed, and then we went back to his apartment (because he had one), and after looking at each other with a question and answer in our eyes, we tore each others’ clothes off, and in a queen-sized bed were completely naked together.  And when I bled, he was compassionate, and went to get a washcloth for me from the bathroom.  And he drove me back to the dorm with toilet paper stuck into my panties since I didn’t have a panty liner.  Then he kissed me goodnight gently, saying, “That was wonderful, Claire. Thank you for giving me that gift.”_

_"Goodnight, Frank,” I said, blushingly smiling as I watched him walk down the sidewalk away from me._

I woke up sweaty and despondent, and cried myself back to sleep.


	14. The Break Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking up is hard to do...

       “Miss Peachay…Miss Peachay!”  Urgent knocking at my door woke me from my fitful slumber.  I hadn’t slept well at all since waking up from my dream/nightmare.  I peeked out of the door to see a thin teenage girl standing there.  “Miss Peachay, _niñniñ, kōn an nañinmej_.”

      _A baby was sick._  Sharbella had been working to teach me Marshall phrases in the times when we didn’t have patients, and I knew enough to know ‘baby’, which sounded like ‘ning-a-ning’ and ‘sick’—‘nang-in-mesh.’  I held a finger up.  “ _Kōttar jidik_ —wait just a minute.”

      I threw on one of my dresses over my pajamas and strapped on my sandals.  Grabbing the keys to the clinic, I headed out the door.

      I’d seen the teenage girl around before. “ _Etaṃ in_?” I asked her as I unlocked the door of the clinic to grab my travel kit.  “What is your name?”

       “Karla,” she said.  “I know little English.  Is my sister baby _kōn an nañinmej_.”

       “Your sister’s baby is sick?” 

      She nodded. “ _Itok ippa_ ,” she said desperately. _Come with me_.

      Just the word “ _itok_ ,” made me think of Jamie, reaching out his hand compassionately to me when I was frightened of snorkeling, saying “ _Itok, Ripālle_.”  Come, Claire.  I had come to like Jamie’s name for me, the way it rolled gently off his tongue, the way he looked at me with an affectionate half-smile when he said it. I swallowed hard to rid myself of the lump in my throat as I followed Karla down the road.

       “Najor’s baby?” I asked, as we arrived at the block building with low windows.  She nodded, grabbing my hand and pulling me inside.

      I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach when I knew it was him.  Sharbella had whispered to me as Najor wheeled her baby away in a wheelbarrow that she had lost several children in infancy.  Little Maxson cried wherever his mother went.  Najor was simple, slightly empty-eyed.  And whether there was something genetically wrong with her children, whether she lacked the ability to feed her babies or care for them well, this was her fourth baby.  None of the others had lived.

      They had a small kerosene lantern lit in the bare room with pandanas sleeping mats on the floor.  Najor was holding Maxson on her lap, rocking back and forth.  I held my hands out, and she placed him in them.  He was hot to the touch, had a red tint to his sweaty skin, and I could hear him wheezing.  I remembered that it had been marked on Maxson’s chart that his mother had Chlamydia, and I knew that could sometimes result in pneumonia in babies. 

      I pulled out my little cheat sheet of medical terms “ _Ikkijelok_?” I asked.  “Is he having trouble breathing?”  Najor didn’t answer, just staring at me blankly.

       “ _Aet,_ ” Karla said.  “Yes.”

       “[ _Ewi_](http://marshallese.org/dictionary/?langChoose=mh&input=ewi%20toon) _toon_?” I asked.  “How long?”

       “ _Ruo raan_ ,” she said.

       “Two days?!”  I exclaimed.  I tried to calm myself, but I knew that letting pneumonia go untreated in an infant could have devastating consequences.

      I scrabbled through my bag until I found the inhaler and spacer.  The nebulizer was back at the clinic, but this would do for now.  Shaking the inhaler, I put the mouthpiece over Maxson’s mouth and gave him an albuterol treatment to widen his airways and relieve his breathing.  His raspy breathing continued. 

       “Can they boil some water?” I asked Karla.  She wrinkled her forehead. 

      I pulled the little English-Majol dictionary out of the bag.  “ _Bōel aebōj_ ,” I directed.

       “ _Aet_ ,” said Karla.  “Okay.”  She left the house to head to the cooking shack.  The steam from boiling water could help to ease Maxson’s breathing.

      I found the liquid acetaminophen and an eyedropper and gave Maxson a dose, then looked back at my medical term sheet.

       “ _Emmoj?_ ”  I asked.  “Has he vomited?”  Najor stared at me blankly.  Her husband, who had been sitting in the shadows, moved forward. 

      _“Aet.  Emmoj_.”

       “How about diarrhea?”  I asked.  “ _Biroro lojem_?”

      He nodded.

       “ _Ewi toon_?  How long?”  I asked.

       “ _Jilu raan_ ,” he said.  “Um.  Tree days?”

      I felt sick.  Vomiting and Diarrhea would add dehydration to list of challenges I’d need to combat for Maxson to recover.

       “Najor,” I said.  “ _Kōkaajiriri._ ”  I handed Maxson back to her, gesticulating that she should nurse him.

       “ _Ejjelok,_ ” the father said, shaking his head.

       “She doesn’t have milk?” I asked, confused. The baby was only four months old.

       “ _Ejjab_ ,” he said.  “No.”

       “What are you feeding him, then?” I asked, looking around and shrugging my shoulders in confusion. 

      He searched in the shadows and came up with a baby bottle and a can of evaporated milk.  Not the best choice, I knew, but better than nothing.

      I gave Maxson another treatment with the inhaler while the father prepared a bottle for him, but Maxson didn’t seem to have much desire to drink; that was definitely not a good sign.  When Karla came back with the pot of boiling water, I took the blanket they had wrapped Maxson in and draped it over the pot and his head.  I turned him on his side and patted his back, seeing if I could loosen any phlegm and get him breathing better.

      The whole time, Najor sat blankly, no affect on her face.  No tears, no concern.  She didn’t reach for her baby, or come close to me to see how he was doing.

      After the steam had dissipated, I rewrapped Maxson in his blanket and leaned against the wall of the house, patting him on the back.  I fell asleep with the hot little body on my lap.

      When I woke up an hour or two later, something didn’t seem right.  Maxson wasn’t on my lap anymore.  I looked around to see that he was on a mat in front of Najor, who was fanning him gently.

       “How is he?” I asked, crawling over to place my hand on him.  His skin wasn’t hot anymore, and I felt a moment of relief until I realized he wasn’t breathing.

 _“Ewi toon_?”  I asked, grabbing my stethoscope and listening for the heartbeat that wasn’t there.

       “ _Juon awa_ ,” Najor said blandly, fanning away.

      An hour.  His skin had taken on a purple pallor.  It was too late to do anything for him.  Maxson was gone.  I stumbled from the house, and walked to the lagoon, where I sat on the sand and stared out over the water.

 

      Compartmentalizing.  It’s a talent a nurse has to develop so that he or she won’t be crushed by the constant barrage of sickness and death one deals with in the health care field.  Somehow the clinical, sanitized nature of a hospital or clinic enables compartmentalizing.  A hospital looks nothing like where we live.  Beeping machines and sterilized tools, people wearing uniforms, the sanitized color of white…a _hospital_ is where death happens.  Not a little house on a beautiful tropical island.  Not when you’ve done your best.  Not when it’s a mother’s fourth baby and none of them have lived.

      I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.

      And then I heard it, the sound that broke my heart, which loaded weight upon crushing weight.

       “Claire?  Are you okay?”

      He was barefoot on the beach, wearing that damn sarong and a tee shirt, looking muscular and innocent and adorable.

       “I’ll be okay.  Najor’s baby just died.”  Jamie moved closer.  “We can’t be alone together anymore,” I said to him.  “If they’re gossiping about us, we need to be more careful.”

       “What if I don’t care what they say?” he asked.

       “You should.  If you lose your reputation among the locals, they won’t trust you to teach their kids.”

      He stepped forward again.

       “It’s more than just your reputation.  _You can’t be here, Jamie_ ,” I said, standing up. 

       “But you need me, Ripālle,” he said gently, reaching his hand out to my cheek and swiping the tears from beneath my eye with his thumb.  He moved toward me as if to take me in his arms.

      I stepped away from him.  “I _can’t_ need you, Jamie,” I shook my head as my chin quivered.  “I’m engaged to Frank.  I can’t be so intimate with you.  I’m sorry.  I’ve taken advantage of your kindness and I’ve allowed my loneliness and the unfamiliarity of this place to fool myself into thinking this was okay.  I’ve used my distance from Frank to justify this.” I motioned back and forth between us.

      He was looking at me with an expression that made me want to throw myself at him, a compassionate affection.  I needed him to _hate_ me.

       “You’re a nice kid, Jamie,” I said. He stiffened and his eyes narrowed.  “And I appreciate your friendship.  But I’ve let my isolation in this place create a false sense of intimacy.  If we were in the states, we wouldn’t be friends.  You wouldn’t hang out with some 27-year-old lady.  You would never have noticed me, and I’m certain I wouldn’t have noticed you.”  That was a bit of a lie.  With his bright hair and broad shoulders, Jamie was certain to draw attention wherever he went.

       “I am here to focus on service to others, not some silly flirtation with a kid I could have babysat growing up.”  I could see that my words were working.  Jamie’s jaw was tightening, and his eyes looked at me with a fiery intensity that rivaled any strength of desire or affection I’d seen there before.

       “I’ve already allowed myself to ignore the locals and shirk my responsibilities.  If I had been doing home visits, I would have known Maxson was sick.  I could have done more, and he wouldn’t have died.” 

      I covered my eyes with my hand.  I could feel him continuing to approach, even though I’d insulted him and tried to push him away.

       “Please go away, Jamie.  I’m not strong enough right now to resist the temptation.”

       “Okay, Ripālle, I’m going.  But just so you know, when you come to a Majol funeral, it’s local custom to bring gifts of soap and dollar bills.”  The silence of bare feet on sand meant that when I finally opened my eyes, he had disappeared like a ghost.

 

      There’s no delaying a funeral in a tropical climate.  Without a morgue or refrigeration, the decomposition process begins immediately.  Word traveled quickly that in the evening, there would be a funeral at Najor’s house.

      I needed information, but couldn’t ask the Scots, so I wandered next door to Maria’s house.  I found her sitting on a strange bench, holding half of a coconut.

       “What are you making?” I asked.

       “Coconut rice for the funeral,” she said.  I squatted near her, having learned the benefits of squatting instead of sitting in the past two weeks since Jamie had shown me how to do it.  I shook my head.  I couldn’t escape him—my Marshall Islands experience was _infused_ with Jamie.  Maria, coconuts, even being alone in my apartment made me remember him.  I hadn’t had a break-up since high school, but the nauseated ache in my  gut took me quickly back; I didn’t like it at all.

      Maria held half of a fully grown coconut, the kind with a dark brown shell and thick, hard meat on the inside.  The stool she was sitting on had a grooved metal bar sticking off of one end.  Maria had a bowl underneath the bar, and she was leaning on the coconut, grating it into the bowl.  I watched curiously as she finished grating that half and then the second half.  Then she scooped up the coconut meat with her hands and put it in some cheesecloth, twisting the cloth to enclose the coconut inside.  Next to her on the ground was a big black pot filled with water and raw white rice.  Maria dipped the bag of coconut into the water, then removed it and squeezed milky liquid out of the cheesecloth.  She repeated the process several times until the water coming out of the bag ran almost clear.  Then she shook the grated coconut out into the pig trough, tossed the cheesecloth over her laundry line, and headed to the cooking hut.  

       “May I watch, Maria?” I asked, not wanting to be rude. 

       “Itok,” she said smilingly, inviting me in.  Inside the cooking hut there was a fire ring with a metal grate.  Above the fire the roof of the hut angled upwards to lead the smoke up and out.

      There were already two breadfruit cut in half on the grill over a small fire.  Maria took them off and put them on a pan, then added a few sticks to the fire and put the pot on top of the grate.

       “What is a Majol funeral like?” I asked Maria.  “What should I do?”

       “You just sit with them— _jijet ipem_.” 

       “Do you say anything?”

       “No, just sit and be…sad with them.” 

      My eyes were tearing up at the thought.  That I could do.  “I want to be polite,” I said.  “I just don’t know everything.”

       “Oh, they will forgive you,” Maria said.  She smiled kindly.  “They know you are ri-pālle.” 

      I couldn’t stop the tears.  “I need to go home,” I whispered.

 

* * *

Dear Frank,

     I want to make things right between us.  Will you please forgive me?  Coming to the Marshall Islands was a cruel thing to do to you.  I was selfishly only thinking of myself and my desires.  I’m not sure what I expected, but this is not some tropical vacation. It’s harsh and hard and lonely.

     I lost my first patient today.  It was a little four-month-old baby named Maxson who died of pneumonia.  I did what I could, but I couldn’t save him.  There was no ER to take him to, no way to intubate him or give him a nebulizer treatment to help him breathe.  I fell asleep with him on my lap, and when I woke up, he was dead. Tonight I’ll be going to his funeral, where they tell me I will just sit and be sad with the family.  It’s not enough.

     I also need to confess.  You are right; I am a weak person when it comes to resisting my impulses.  But I have not cheated on you, not even with a kiss, even though my loneliness led me to get too close to the other white guys on the island, one in particular.  I’ve stepped back from that closeness, and I am determined that I will be stronger.

     I have committed to the Peace Corps, and I want to have the fortitude to stick with this.  But if either of us determines that this is just too much for us to be apart, I am willing to end my commitment early.  Nothing is more important to me than us.

I love you,

Claire

 

* * *

 

 

      The sun was low in the sky when I put my sandals on and headed to Najor’s house.  I had a horrendous headache and felt sad and sick from crying.  I’d written a letter to Frank that I wished I could teleport to him right this minute.  I wanted reassurance that he still loved me.  But the reality was, mail wouldn’t go out until Tuesday morning with the plane, would take a week to get to Boston, and then it would take another week to get back from Frank to me.  It would be two weeks until I received a reaction from him.

      A small crowd of people were scattered around Najor’s yard, sitting on mats on the ground.  A table held food—rice, fish, barbecued chicken, Spam, roasted breadfruit, bananas, and papaya.  There was an abundance.  There was even red Koolaid with ice in it, and a woman was frying little round donuts over a camp stove.

 

      I waited my turn to go inside.  I sat next to Najor, still fanning little Maxson to keep the flies away.  A white sheet over him covered his mouth.  I handed Najor a bar of soap and two dollar bills, which she added to the pile next to her.  Her eyes still looked empty.

      I was cried out and weary, but I could sit and be sad with her; so I did that, watching Maxson’s wispy black hair moving as she fanned him.

      When I went outside, I filled my plate with small amounts of food.  A portion of breadfruit, which made me think of Angus and Rupert.  Barbecued fish, coconut rice, a tiny little banana, a cup of juice, and two little round donuts.  I looked around the yard, saw Rupert, Angus, and Jamie sitting on a mat on one side of the pebble-strewn yard, then turned and found Maria.

       “You not sit with Mister Shamie?” asked Maria as I sat down next to her on the pandanus mat.

       “No,” I said.  “Ej jab konaan.”

       “He doesn’t want you?” she asked.  I met his eyes across the yard.  That obviously wasn’t true. He was looking at me and didn’t look away when I met his gaze; we stared sadly at each other until I finally looked down.

       “No, _I_ don’t want _him_ ,” I said.  “How do you say that?”

      “EE-jab, not eh-jab,” said Maria.  “But Miss Peachay,” she shook her head, looking at me critically.  “ _Enana riab._   Is bad to lie.”

[](http://www.reliablecounter.com)  
  
[](http://)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We went to Najor’s baby’s funeral a month or two into our time on Arno. She had lost a number of children—due to inadequate pre- and post-natal care, the infant mortality rate on the outer islands is very high. Soap and dollar bills seemed a strange thing to take as a gift, but I really loved their custom of just sitting and being sad together. 
> 
> I remember sitting in their yard afterward, eating donuts hot out of the melted grease and drinking Kool-aid, realizing it was the first cold drink and first dessert we’d had in months.
> 
> Having stimulated that part of my brain, the language is coming back to me. I was going to look up the word “wait” when writing, and before it even came up, my brain said “kōttar.” I was going to look up “two days” and my brain said “Ruo rainin,”—which is really close.  
> The other day I found myself singing a song in my head—and it was all in Majol, one I’d learned and sung with my students. In 1993. 


	15. Consolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come see the miracle!"

     Sunday was a down day.  I did my laundry, re-read my letter to Frank, and cried a little bit more.  Then I put on my big girl pants, cleaned the clinic, and set out a home visit plan for post-natal care, writing out the questions to ask in Marshallese with possible answers and a few other helpful phrases.  I wanted not to feel helpless, and if inadequate post-natal care was a cause of increased infant mortality, then I would do something about it.

     The day was less breezy than it had been a couple of weeks back when Jamie had helped me, which meant my clothes were slightly crunchy when I took them off the line.  I crossed my doorstep carrying my laundry basket, picturing a soaking wet girl, curls drooping with water weight, being hugged by her affectionate red-haired friend.  I missed Jamie; and for that matter I missed Rupert and Angus too.

 

     The world looked brighter on Monday.  I got up early, took my shower, and went out to the beach with a mat to sit on as I watched the sun rise.  I wanted to try to fall back in love with Frank again, and I thought journaling about him would help.  I started writing a list of things I appreciated about him and memories I had of him.

  * I love it when Frank reads to me and plays with my hair.
  * I love it when we go on historical jaunts, stay in little hotels, and visit obscure places. Frank is a treasure hunter when it comes to hidden gems.
  * Frank is such a generous lover. He cares about my enjoyment when we are together.
  * It’s amazing to be with such an intelligent conversationalist. When we discuss current events or politics, he always knows the background, the lead-up to the events.  He has a breadth of understanding that is amazing.
  * I feel like I’m an explorer when I’m with him sometimes, when we try new restaurants, new ethnic foods and experiences.
  * I remember how much I admired him, this handsome history major, so intelligent, and so enamored and adoring of me.
  * Yes, we’ve gotten stuck in ruts, and we’ve become a little complacent, but that’s how long relationships go, isn’t it? It can’t be everlasting passion, can it?



     When Rupert knocked on my door Monday evening and handed me a plastic grocery bag filled with mail, I could not have been more excited.  Each week as mail arrived, it would be collected in the main Peace Corps office in Majuro.  On Mondays, they would send it out on the once-weekly flights out to Arno.  We always had our outgoing mail ready to send back to Majuro and on from there, and they made the mail exchange at the plane.  I sighed happily with the thought that my letter to Frank was on its way.

     There were notes from my mom and dad, a letter from my older sister Amy which had been scrawled on with crayon (probably one of my nephews).  There was also a postcard from my college roommate.  And at the bottom of the stack, there was a letter from Frank.  I pressed it to my chest, but decided to save it for the last.

     For some reason I felt a little nervous to open it.  There were so many things I needed it to say.  “Have reasonable expectations, Beauchamp,” I told myself as I finally used my letter opener to tear open the flap and bring out the letter from Frank.

     I was about to start reading, when a rapid knock on my door startled me.  For a second I felt a sinking sense of déjà vu.  What was happening now?  It was a female voice, calling out, "Miss Peachay!  Miss Peachay!"

     I opened the door, and there was Maria.  "Itok!" She said.  "Come see the miracle!"

     "What?" I was confused.

     "Come!  Come!  Put your shoes on!  We run!  Come see the miracle!"

     I wasn't going to run in sandals, so I pulled on a pair of tennis shoes, Maria continuing to urge me to hurry.  Finally ready, I shut the door and followed Maria at a swift trot.

     "Come see the miracle!" she shouted, heading toward the village of Ine, away from the Peace Corps school.  We kept running, Maria calling out, "Come see the miracle," every minute or two.  Eventually I realized we were heading toward the fishing dock on the ocean side of the atoll.  A boat?  Visitors?  A big fish?  A shark?  A whale?  I had no idea what she was taking me to see.

     We stopped, panting, on the edge of the dock.

     "Look!"  said Maria, "The miracle!"  She gestured, and then I saw it.  High in the dark, star-lit sky, was a full moon.

     I stood in silence.  I could hear the pounding of my own heart in my ears and the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore.  My nose pricked at the distinct, slightly fishy scent of the ocean.  And I took in the stars, so bright without the light pollution of the city.  You never really saw the stars in Boston.  Tonight I could actually distinguish the Milky Way, the brighter white stripe of stars showing the galaxy radiating out from our solar system.

     And the moon, perfect and round, gray shadows of the craters so recognizable as the man in the moon I'd grown up seeing.  He looked the same as always, just clearer.

     It was a miracle.  A miracle to be alive, a miracle to be here.  I smiled at Maria.  "How do you say 'Thank you?'" I asked. "

     "'Kommol,'" she said.  "Is mean thanks.  And 'kommol tata' is mean thank you very much."

     I turned my face and gazed up at the bright moon.  "Kommol tata," I whispered.

     I walked back to my apartment with Maria, smiling.  The world was good, and beautiful, and I had a letter from Frank waiting for me back at my house.  I had a sense of well-being and peace.

     When I got back inside, I changed into my shorts and tank top for bed (in the dark, of course), and then turned on my lamp, cuddled up in bed, and pulled out the letter, ready to hear from Frank.

* * *

 

Dear Claire—

    I won’t waste time beating around the bush.  I don’t want to be engaged any more.  I would like the freedom to live my life, and I don’t feel it knowing my ring is on your finger halfway around the world.  I haven’t slept with anyone yet, but I don’t like living my life with you as a shadow over it. 

     You have been special to me.  I could have seen myself spending the rest of my life with you, but your choice to leave me has helped me see you don’t value me in the same way.  I can’t commit to someone who won’t commit to me.

     You can try to blame this on me, make me out to be the bad guy.  Don’t.  You’re the one who left.  I am still in the same house, at the same job, with the same life.  You are the one who wasn’t satisfied with what we had, so you don’t get to blame me if you suffer the consequences of your actions.

     I think you did this on purpose.  I think you wanted to break up with me but didn’t have the strength of character to do it.  So instead, you put me in an untenable situation and forced me to break up with you, so that _I_ look like the bad guy. 

     Goodbye, Claire.  I will see you when you return to Boston.  Who knows who we will be then.  Right now I won’t rule out getting back together, but I truly don’t foresee it happening, either.

Frank

 

* * *

 

     I stared blankly at the page in front of me.  I recognized the handwriting, but it couldn’t really be from Frank.  It was so cold, so unloving.  As if he felt nothing.  As if the years we spent together meant nothing.

     Then I remembered my letter.  Heading to Frank, probably somewhere over the ocean between here and Hawaii, was a hopeful, loving, committed letter, and it would get to him in a week.  He had sent this letter a week ago.  So when I had determined that I was going to be faithful to Frank and end my friendship with Jamie, Frank had already broken up with me. 

     There was only one person I wanted to see, that I needed to see.  And I didn’t care what time it was.  I pulled my tennis shoes on again, and jogged down the road in the light of the bright full moon.

 

     His window faced the iar.  I tapped quietly on it, hoping I wouldn’t disturb the others.  He came to the window, and even in the shadows I could see he was just wearing boxer briefs.  His hair was messy, sticking up in several places.

      “Claire, what are you doing here?” he asked.

     I couldn’t talk.  I just held out the letter in my hand and burst into tears.

      “I’ll be right out, Ripālle,” he said, fading into the darkness of his room.  I heard his toe hit something, and he swore, but in a minute he was outside.

     He eyed the backyard, and then took me by the hand and led me to the swing.  He sat down in it, and then invited me onto his lap.  He’d pulled on a tee shirt and shorts, and he’d brought out a blanket, as well as a dish towel, for some strange reason.  Jamie pulled the blanket over us, tucking me in under his arm with my cheek on his chest, and then he handed me the dish towel.

      “Handkerchief,” he said.  And then he held me.  I couldn’t talk yet.  I couldn’t explain.  But wrapped in Jamie’s arms with his hand stroking my hair, I knew the world was not going to shatter around me.

      _Frank wasn’t good with tears.  He viewed them as manipulative and it made him uncomfortable if I cried.  Unfortunately, I’d always been an emotional person, so he often viewed me as trying to make him give me my way.  He would listen, certainly, but he wouldn’t move toward me, and as much as I would wish to be held when I cried, it was unlikely._

     I could feel Jamie pressing his lips to my hair.  I could so easily have turned my face up to him, but I didn’t.

      “You’re okay?” I finally asked. “I’m not putting your legs to sleep?”

     A chuckle rumbled through Jamie’s chest.  “Maybe a wee bit,” he said, adjusting our bodies so that I was more beside than on him.  “But I dinna care.  I will hold you as long as you need to be held, Ripālle.”  He squeezed me with his arm, as if to convince my body as well as my mind.

      “That may be a while,” I warned him; he responded with a laugh, and a kiss on my scalp. 

     Finally I could speak.  “Frank.  Broke our engagement.  You were right, Jamie.  He couldn’t stand to have me gone.  He thinks I’ve been selfish and he doesn’t want to wait for me.”

     Jamie didn’t say anything, just sighed, and stroked my shoulder.

     I was cried out and exhausted, but I didn’t want to be alone.

      “Jamie,” I said quietly, “Can I just sleep with you in your bed tonight?  I can’t be alone.”  He was quiet for a moment.

      “Sleep with me?” he said; I could hear the humor in his voice.  “Do ye think that’s a good idea?  Ye just broke up wi’ me, like two days ago.  Do ye think I can be trusted, all night, wi’ you dressed in this—whatever it is.”  He pointed down at my shorts and tank top.

      “I trust you more than anyone else, James….Fraser,” I said.  “Hey, what’s your middle name?”

      “Which one?” he asked dryly. 

      “Well, all of them, of course,” I said.

      “James…Alexander…Malcolm…MacKenzie…Fraser,” he intoned slowly.

      “Wow, your mom must have had a hard time yelling at you when you were growing up,” I said.  He laughed.

      “And you?” he said.

      “All my mom had to yell out was Claire…Elizabeth…Beauchamp!”

     I climbed off of Jamie’s lap. 

      “So…” he said, standing up slowly.  “In my bed?  Wi' me?  All night?”

      “Just to sleep,” I said tiredly.  “I just can’t be alone right now.” 

      With a little shake of his head, Jamie led me inside by the hand.

     I didn't sleep very well.  Besides waking up with the horrible memory of Frank's letter, and the embarrassing thought of my hopeful missive heading his direction, I was extremely aware of Jamie in bed with me, his warm bulk behind me, close enough to touch.  I think he was trying not to touch me, but whenever he was sleeping, indicated by deeper breathing, he would flop his arm over me and pull me close, and his body announced quite clearly how he felt about having me in bed with him. After a while he would startle awake and retreat back to his side of the twin bed with a muffled "Sorry!" into my hair.

 

     As I was creeping out of Jamie’s room early the next morning, I tip-toed past the couch.  From the darkness I heard a voice.  “I told ye, Claire, and I was serious.  If ye willna listen to me, perhaps ye will listen to Dougal MacKenzie.”  Angus stepped into the light.  “You continue to risk Jamie’s future every time you use him.”

      “I’m not. . .I didn’t,” I protested.  Angus sternly turned away and walked back into his bedroom.

     I didn’t understand what he meant until a well-dressed man came to the door of the clinic and handed me a chunky black phone with a thick antenna.  I held the satellite phone to my ear, and heard a gruff Scottish voice say, “Miss Beauchamp, pack a bag.  You’re coming to Majuro on the Jolok boat today.”

 

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Come see the miracle" is probably one of my favorite memories from Arno. Our next-door neighbor Maria (pronounced Mar-ya) did indeed knock on our door, take us jogging down the road in the darkness to the ocean side fishing dock, and proceeded to show us the miracle was the moon. I'll still say, "Come see the miracle!" when I've done something good and I want my husband or kids to come see. ;)
> 
> The next chapter is called "The Proposal." Hmmm. I wonder what that's about!


	16. The Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire is in trouble!

      I was surprised, but definitely relieved, to see that Jamie was in the back of the pickup truck that came to pick me up at noon. At least we would face the firing squad together. 

   “Are you really wearing that?” I asked Jamie, as he stood, took my duffle bag from me, then offered me a hand to help me up into the bed of the pick-up truck.

     “Totally,” he said, looking down at the sarong.  “It makes me feel good—ready to go to war.”

     Jamie was joking, but I could sense that he was nervous.  I was nervous, too.  We hadn’t done anything, but I had jogged home in a tank top and shorts.  Since I hadn’t seen many people, obviously Angus must have radioed Dougal.  It wasn’t like we talked or made a lot of noise, but somehow he’d known we were together.  I figured we were about to get a stern talking to, and I’d have yet another reason to have to stay away from Jamie.  I didn’t want to, though.

     Passengers on the Jolok boat sat on the wooden deck of the boat.  It was a small boat, so it was tossed about by the waves.  The thought of facing the fierce Scotsman made me nervous, but it was the rolling ocean that made Jamie sick to his stomach.  I rubbed his back as he threw up over the side of the boat.

     Meanwhile, I terrified myself by looking at the water that was almost black and pondering the fact that there was an entirely separate world under that surface.  I was grateful when we saw the island of Majuro and landed on solid ground, though on the taxi ride to the Peace Corps headquarters, I still felt nauseated.

 

 

     “D’ye understand why you are here?” Mr. MacKenzie lowered his eyebrows as he stared at the two of us, sitting next to each other in two chairs across the desk from him.  Jamie was still a little green from the boat trip, and I was still reeling from Frank’s letter and the sudden fear that not only did I not have anyone to go back to, I could lose my position here as well.

     He was glaring at me.  “Sorry, what did you ask?”  I felt scattered and embarrassed that I was starting the whole conversation out wrong.

     “Why are you here?” His voice was gruff; his face angry.

     “I’m pretty sure it’s because I spent the night at the boys’ house yesterday, after my fiancé broke up with me in a letter.”

     “Ye spent the night at the boys’ house?  On their _couch_?”  Dougal asked, but it wasn’t for clarification; he knew full well what the answer was.

     I exchanged glances with Jamie; he shook his head and looked at me like it was my question to answer.  “Well, I slept in Jamie’s bed with him, but we didn’t like, sleep together, sleep together.”

     “And how would anyone know that?” Mr. MacKenzie asked.  “Angus and Rupert saw you coming out of Jamie’s room early in the morning, wearing some indecent version of nighttime attire, tousled hair, and sleepy eyes.  Ye live a mile away, so every single family along that road had the opportunity to see the same thing as ye walked home.”

     “Uncle,” Jamie said, but at Dougal’s glare he corrected himself, “I mean, Mr. MacKenzie.  Claire’s fiancé broke up with her.  She needed to not be alone.  We dinna do anything sexual.  I held her, that’s all.”

     Dougal glared.  “Ye see what a difficult position ye put me in, though, young lady.  _What_ were you thinking?”

     “I’m sorry, Mr. MacKenzie,” I said.  “I guess I wasn’t really thinking at all.  Without a roommate or a female friend to talk to, without the ability to call my family, I needed _someone_ last night.  Jamie’s been very kind to me, and I trust him.  I never feared for my honor, and I guess I didn’t think about other people’s perceptions if I were coming back from the guys’ house early in the morning.”

     Dougal pulled out a sheaf of papers.  “D’ye ken what these are?”

     I looked across the table and read upside-down, “ _Peace Corps Volunteer Code of Conduct_ ,” I said.

     “Recognize your signatures?” he said, pushing two more sheets of paper across the table at us.  We nodded, and I glanced over at Jamie.  This sure felt like being sent to the principal’s office as teenagers.  Next, Dougal handed us another piece of paper, with addendums and numbered policies, two of which were highlighted in yellow.

     “Claire,” said Dougal, “Would ye read section 3.13 and 3.13.1, please? 

     I leaned forward and read the highlighted portions.

 

 

 

> _3.13 Sexual Behavior_
> 
> _While the matter of Volunteer sexual behavior is a highly personal one, Volunteers are required to follow certain legal and policy requirements and failure to do so may be grounds for disciplinary action up to and including administrative separation._
> 
> _3.13.1 Host Country Sexual Mores_
> 
> _Because of the legal, social, and political implications of inappropriate behavior, it is important that Peace Corps standards be clear. To this end, Country Directors shall ensure that volunteers understand host country sexual mores, including in relation to dating, pre-marital experience, and single parent maternity and paternity, and the consequences for Volunteers and the Peace Corps program if these mores are violated. Post Guidance in this area should be provided in writing to Volunteers._

     “Jamie,” Dougal said.  “Ye’ve had the most experience in the Marshall Islands.  How would you describe the mores of this country?”

     “Honestly, Mr. MacKenzie, they allow their young people to have a kind of extended adolescence, and sometimes they assume that they will be sexually active when they are not yet married.  Of course, the parents would rather they wait, just as in many other countries.”

     “Is the same thing expected of Peace Corps volunteers, however?”

     “You have made it clear, sir, that we should not enter into sexual relationships with locals.  You hadn’t clarified the policy in regards to other volunteers.  And...even if you had, we do not have a sexual relationship.”

     “Now,” said Dougal, “It doesn’t spell it out in these particular guidelines, but the basic reason for being terminated from the Peace Corps, which is called ‘administrative separation,’ is if your behavior diminishes the effectiveness of you as volunteers or the Peace Corps program as a whole.  I am leaning very heavily toward administrative separation for you, Miss Beauchamp.”

     “How does what happened last night diminish my effectiveness?”  I sputtered.

     “Let me ask you, Miss Beauchamp.  Who do you help the most?”  Dougal’s eyes glinted fiercely.

     “Probably the women and children.”

     “How are the women going to act toward you if they think you’re a whore?”

     I cringed at the word.  “I’m not a whore, sir.  I have only been with my fiancé for the last eight years.”

     Dougal ignored me.  “But it they think ye are, are they going to bring their children to you?  Are they going to trust you near their men?  Are they going to feel safe asking you questions about their illnesses and ailments?”

     I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

     “There are _reasons_ for our cultural sensitivity training.  We have come into the Marshallese world.  We don’t try to put our culture on them.  We will educate and we will heal and we will support the physical and social health of their community.  But early missionaries did a lot of damage here, unintentionally, of course.  They didn’t like seeing women’s breasts, okay.  But when the natives didn’t dry off as quickly after a rain storm because they were wearing cotton shirts that got soaked and stayed wet, they got boils and they got sick.  Just by making islanders wear clothing, missionaries killed them.”

     “But Mr. MacKenzie,” I said.  “I’m a good nurse.  I’m doing a good job.  I’ve already developed relationships with people.  What if this never happens again?”

     “Word has already gotten out, Miss Beauchamp.  They willna respect ye. And they will either not trust ye, or not come to use the clinic services.”

     Jamie reached over underneath the desktop and grabbed my hand.  I was beginning to shake with the stress.  “Mr. MacKenzie, I did not do anything bad.”  I couldn’t keep my chin from quivering.  “Am I not allowed to be human, to need people? To make a mistake?”

     Dougal ignored my question.  “To be honest, Miss Beauchamp, it’s your reputation with the men that troubles us most.  You’re already alone on Arno, which was certainly not the plan.  But if they think you have loose morals, the night time visits are just going to increase. And my nephews are not out there to provide you with night watch service.”

     “I’m gonna kill Angus,” Jamie muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

     “And you, Jamie,” Mr. MacKenzie continued.  “How can I punish her and not you?  It will come across as nepotism, me treating my family with extra favor.  I could relocate you, I guess.  Or maybe it's time for you to go back home."

     “Dougal,” Jamie said, slowly, in shock.  “How could you _do_ that?”

     I stared at Jamie, seeing the deep pain in his blue eyes, feeling incredible guilt for putting him in jeopardy, of putting my position in jeopardy. 

     I couldn’t believe it when the words came out of my mouth: “What if we got married?”

     Mr. MacKenzie and Jamie turned and stared at me.

     I looked at Dougal.  “What if we got married?  While the Majol culture frowns on premarital relations, I read that they’re very forgiving if the couple gets married.  Wouldn’t that fit within the guideline of the policy?  They might not respect us if we were just messing around, but if we’re then married, they’d have nothing to object to.  They’d just see us as horny fiancés who jumped the gun a little.”

     “Ripālle, how can you propose such a thing?” Jamie half-laughed as he exclaimed in astonishment.  I hadn’t looked at Jamie as I was talking, but now I could see his face was flushed and his lips were pale.  “Seems like a rather permanent solution to a temporary problem.”

     “I’d say it’s a rather final problem if you get sent home,” said Dougal.  His face displayed interest instead of horror.

     I turned back to look at the tall young man.  “I care about you, Jamie,” I said earnestly.  “And I don’t want you to lose all this because of me.”

     Shakily, Jamie said, “Can I speak to ye alone, Claire?”

     When we entered the other room, Jamie grabbed my hand and led me over to the couch where he sat and pulled me to sit down next to him, not releasing my hand. He looked down at our hands for a moment, and then he looked up at me.

 

     “Are you serious, Claire?”  Jamie’s blue eyes blazed with an unfamiliar intensity.  He looked fragile, somehow, as if something barely below the surface was about to break.

     “What do you mean?” I asked.

     “We joke a lot, Ripālle.  I want to know if you’re serious.  Do you _really_ want to marry me?”

     I smiled, slightly embarrassed.  “Yeah,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, “I would definitely marry you.”

     He sighed.  “You know that’s not what I’m asking, Claire…Do you _want_ to _marry_ me?”

     I felt short of breath.  He was making me spell it out, and the thought of rejection was terrifying.

     Jamie continued.  “When I get married, my plan is the ‘til death do us part’ kind of marriage.  I dinna want a fake marriage.  If we married each other, I would want to stay married, have children wi’ ye, get old wi’ ye.  And bed ye.  _Frequently_.”  At those words, my uterus spasmed.  “I _already_ want to sleep wi’ ye,” he said intently, blushing as he looked down at his hands.  “It would be torture if ye married me, but ye didna mean it; if ye didna want me that way.”

 _How could he not know?_ I thought.  _Isn’t it constantly written on my face?_

     I took a deep breath.  “I do, Jamie.”  My voice caught in my throat.  “I want you, too,” I said, earnestly meeting his eyes.  “I’ve missed you so much the last few days.  You are the best friend I’ve had in a long time.  I love talking with you, laughing with you.  I trust you.  I feel safe with you.”

     Jamie released his tight grip on my hand, but covered it with his other hand, stroking me softly with his fingers as I continued.

     “But hasn’t it been clear? I don’t think I’ve been able to hide how I feel.  I want _more_.  I want you.  I want to be with you.  I want your body, naked, next to me.”

     I could see him jerk in visceral response to my words. He put his hand up to stop me.  “Ah, Ripālle, unless ye want me to attack ye here and now, you should stop talking like that.” His face was flushed.

     I didn’t obey him; I leaned over and whispered in his ear, “I want your weight on me, I want you... _in_ me.”

     With a subtle shake of his head and widened eyes, Jamie’s face demonstrated exactly the effect I was having on him. But then he smiled.

     “Can I ask ye, then, Claire?”

     “Ask me what?”

     “Will ye marry me, Claire Beauchamp?”

     “Yes, I will, Jamie Fraser,” I said, standing and pulling him up to his feet. He gripped me by the waist, crushing me in an embrace, pressing his lips to mine.  He tasted of salt, and I could feel hope and desire in his kiss.

     “I couldn’t sleep last night,” he said, pulling away from me for a moment.  “You were with me, next to me, all night long, and ye never reached for me. I thought, maybe you dinna want me like that.”

     I wrapped my arms around him, urging us together.  My breasts were crushed beneath his chest.  Our torsos were flush against each other.  I’d said I wanted him; that was an understatement. I could feel his erection pressed against my pelvis.  He wanted me, too, that was certain.

     As if drawn by a magnetic force I lowered my hand and put it on him, feeling the size of him through the thin folds of his sarong.  He groaned, kissed me harder, and skimmed his hand over my breast in my sundress; and then both of us froze.

     “Dougal’s in the other room,” I said.

     “Aye,” he said, pulling away from me and taking a deep breath.  “I think we should wait until my Uncle’s no in the next room, and maybe until we’re married to consummate our marriage.”

     “We’re already at second and sort-of-third base,” I joked.  “It wouldn’t take long,” I felt myself being drawn back to him, and he could see it.

     “No, Claire,” he said, shaking his head and laughing.  “We canna.”

     “Why?” I groaned.  “We already got in trouble as if we had sex…”

     “Ripālle,” he said, gently.  “Would it be so bad for me to be a virgin when I marry?  It’s a rarity in this world.”

     I looked at him, and realized he was right. I had to close my eyes and breathe for a moment.

     “You know the only thing helping you keep your virginity right now is the fact that Dougal is in the next room, don’t you?”  I asked.

     “Good thing he is, then,” Jamie said with a grin.

     “You’re not any fun at _all_ ,” I sighed, finally accepting continued celibacy.

     “No right now.  But I _will_ be,” he said, one side of his lips twisting up into a wry smile.  “I promise.”

     I _believed_ him, and the thought send a warm flush through my body.

     “Shall we tell Dougal, then?”  I asked.

     “I think we should, Ripālle,” Jamie said, nodding at me with a slightly shell- shocked expression.

     I blew out my breath again.  “Do I look okay?” I said.  Jamie reached out and smoothed the hair that had been tousled in our enthusiastic embrace.

     “How about me?” he asked.  He needed a small amount of smoothing and straightening as well.  He was about ready to leave the room when I pointed at the front of his sarong.  “I think you need a minute.”

     “It’s not going to help me to stay in this room wi’ ye,” he said, looking me up and down hungrily.  “I think we might need to not even be _alone_ wi’ each other until our wedding day.”

     “Well, when will that be?” I asked. 

     “Tomorrow or the next day, if I have anything to say about it,” Jamie said.  He stepped close to me, gently took my chin in his hand and kissed me.

 

 

 

 


	17. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I needed to give Claire and Jamie a little time to get to know each other better. . . and for Claire to realize how good for her Jamie is.

     Dougal was waiting when we came out of the other room.  I wondered how much he had heard.

      “So?” he asked.

      “We…are going to get married,” I said, feeling somewhat incredulous as I met Jamie’s eyes.  “How do we make that happen?”

      “Well, you’ll need to see the Secretary of Foreign Affairs at the government office.  You’re an American citizen; Jamie’s Scottish, and we’re here in the Marshall Islands.  They’ll be able to get you the proper forms.  There are shops here so you can get a wedding ring and a dress, if ye want it.  I can phone the Iroij and make arrangements for the local reverend to marry ye.  Ye might want to buy some extra food while yer here to provide for a party.”

      “We also need time for a honeymoon,” said Jamie.  I looked over at him in surprise.  “There’s no privacy in town, and despite your doubts, I am a virgin, Uncle Dougal, and I’d like a chance to enjoy my new wife.”  I tried to disguise the fact that his words had given me shivers, but Dougal noticed.  He shook his head and scoffed.

      “So this is what we are doing the next few days,” said Dougal. “Making certain the two of you are really serious about this damn foolish plan, and if you are, preparing for a wedding and a,” he glared at Jamie, “SHORT honeymoon, and then figuring out the logistics of the two of you living together on Arno.”

      “Logistics?” I said.  “Won’t he move in with me?”

      “Yer cabin’s not very nice,” said Dougal.

      “I think I should be near the clinic,” I said. I looked at Jamie to see if he agreed, and he nodded. “It was fine for me alone, and it’s got room for more than one.”

      “I can see to improving it, if needed,” said Jamie.  “I dinna see that much else that we’d need to deal with, logistically.”

     Dougal seemed mollified that marriage would not instantly make us more demanding.  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.  “Have ye eaten since arriving?”

      “Not since breakfast,” I said.

      “Well, I’ll take ye to my home, then,” he said generously, a gesture which completely took me by surprise.

     Majuro was astoundingly busy and urbanized.  It made me glad to live on an outer island, seeing the lack of trees and the massive quantity of homes and buildings here.  Dougal drove us beyond the edges of the city to a place where more trees seemed to conceal houses set back from the single road.  He parked in front of a small but nicely kept up home, and led us inside.

      “Ye’ll stay in here with my daughter Revka,” Dougal said, pushing the door of a small bedroom open.  “And Jamie, you’ll sleep on the couch.” 

     A Marshallese woman came out of the kitchen; she had long black hair and a sweet smile.

      “Ah, and this is my wife, Moneo,” Dougal said, smiling down at her.  She shook my hand, but reached out and hugged Jamie.

(Muh-nay’-oh)

      “Auntie Moneo,” he said, “this is my fiancé Claire.”

      “Welcome,” she said with a smile.  “I look forward to getting to know the girl Jamie has chosen.”

      “May I help?” I asked.  “Jiban?”

      “Aet,” she said, smiling gently.  “You can cut up the vegetables.”

      “Vegetables,” I groaned.  “I’ve missed vegetables.  I really need to grow a garden on Arno.”

      “Oh, I have seeds that grow well here,” Moneo said.  “Remind me to share some.”

     Soon we had the table set with coconut rice, barbecued chicken, and fresh vegetables—beans, peppers, and cucumbers.  Teenager Revka appeared from somewhere, a lovely girl with lightly tanned skin, light brown eyes, and brown hair.  She gave Jamie a hug, and then we ate.

      “Be careful about how much of the vegetables ye eat,” said Jamie.  “They may not agree wi’ ye if ye havena had any in a while.”

 

     Sadly, Jamie was right.  Not long after dinner, I started having to spend some quality time in the restroom.  I was extremely grateful they had a flush toilet, and fortunately after about an hour of violent stomach pains I was able to rejoin the family as they visited in the sitting room.

     Not long after, Revka, who was a highschooler, headed to bed, and then Moneo and Dougal seemed to be retiring for the night as well.

     I changed into some shorts and a tee shirt in Revka’s room where Moneo had set up a pallet for me on the floor, but I wasn’t ready to go to bed.  It seemed like such a huge decision to get married that I really wanted to spend time getting to know Jamie better.  I peeked my head back out to the living room, where Jamie had taken off his shoes and shirt and was lying on one of the couches.

     He almost read my mind.  “Uncle, Claire and I would like to talk.  D’ye mind if Claire stays out here wi’ me, even after ye and Auntie go to bed?”

      “Yer twenty-two, James,” Dougal said, in amusement. “You’re an adult.  I’m not going to tell you when to go to bed, or who ye can talk to.”

      “But it is yer home, and I dinna want to be disrespectful,” Jamie said.

      “Aye, thanks,” said Dougal.  “Here’s a blanket.  And if the two of ye, well…” he eyed my shorts critically, “For God’s sake, be quiet about it.”

      “You still don’t believe us, sir?” I said, chastely sitting on a couch by myself. 

      “Oh, aye, I believe you might not have been having sex last night…but wi’ my knowledge of the young and the way women respond to getting engaged, I wouldn’t take any bets on what happens in the next few days.” I peeked a glance at Jamie, who was blushing profusely.

     Dougal went out to the kitchen, and Jamie and I looked at each other from our spots on the two different couches with a coffee table in between them.

      “Is this crazy?” I asked him.

      “I dinna think that’s a helpful question to ask,” said Jamie.  “By asking it, yer already saying ye think it is crazy.”  He paused for a moment.  “We don’t have to get married, ye ken.”

      “I want to,” I said.  “I just want to feel like I know you a little better, and for you to know me.  So, why don’t you ask me a question?”

      “Okay, then,” he said.  “Why?”

      “Why what?”

      “Why did ye ask me to marry ye?”

      “Cause I don’t want to go back to Frank, to America.  Because I want to stay on Arno.  Because I like you.  And when I thought about never seeing you again it nearly broke my heart.”

     He smiled at me, “Have I told you yet how lucky I feel?”

      “I think I’m luckier,” I said. “You’re very kind, Jamie.  I’ve never been with anyone who makes me feel as safe as you do.”

      “Well, I’m proud of you, so professional and capable—a nurse,” he said.  “You impressed me the first time I met you.”

      “You’re a teacher, Jamie,” I said, indicating I didn’t think that was insignificant either.  “You know several languages…”

      “Will you stop being so damn sappy!” said Dougal, coming out of the kitchen.  “Claire already spent enough time in the loo.  I don’t want to have to go vomit in there.”

     Jamie and I chuckled as Dougal disappeared down the hallway.

      “So, Ripālle,” Jamie said, with a curious smile on his face.  “I have a question.  What were you talking about when you said we were at second and almost-third base today?”

      “I’m sorry,” I said.  “That was really rude of me.  I wasn’t showing any sort of self-control, and I shouldn’t have…”

      “Stop,” Jamie interrupted.  “Ye didn’t see me fighting ye off, did ye?  I wasna looking for an apology.  I just want to know what you meant by ‘second’ and ‘third’.”

     I laughed.  “Lost in translation, huh?  It refers to American baseball, but it’s a euphemism for the steps towards sex.  First base is kissing.  Second base is above the waist touching; third base is below the waist touching, and a home run is sex.”

      “Yer blushing,” he said, grinning at me.

      “Well, I’m talking with my virgin husband-to-be about sex.” 

      “So,” he mused, forehead wrinkled, “I was at second, and _you_ were at almost-third?

      “We were kind of both there together,” I said teasingly. 

      “Now, what made it ‘almost’ third?” Jamie asked, looking confused.

      “ _Over_ the clothes,” I said, grinning.

      “Then I wasna all the way at second, either,” he said, shaking his head at me as his gaze drifted downward.

     I stared at Jamie for a moment, and then all of a sudden it hit me.  “There’s so much I don’t know about you,” I said.  “Are you a club hopper?  Do you smoke?  Use drugs?  Drink a lot?”  I started panicking.  “Will you want to live in the Marshall Islands forever, or do you think we might live elsewhere—Scotland or America?”

     Jamie had been shaking his head through my whole barrage of questions and laughed when I stopped.

     I took a deep breath.  It was one thing to propose marriage, another entirely to consider the long-term consequences of such a commitment.  My brain was swirling with questions and thoughts about what the future could hold; how the two of us could be different, of conflicts that could arise.

      “Come here, Ripālle,” Jamie said, motioning to the couch beside him.  “I’m not going to attack ye, no matter what my uncle thinks, and I know I can calm you down.”

     Stretched out next to him, feeling his warmth, with his arms clasped around me and my head tucked under his chin, I could actually feel my breathing and heart rate slow down.

      “How do you do that?” I asked, turning my face up to him, willing him to kiss me.  “How do you know what I need?”  Jamie stared down at my lips and sighed.

      “I dinna ken, Ripālle, I just do.  And right now, ye need me to kiss ye,” Jamie whispered with a teasing smile.  “But I can only do it if it’s not going to make ye molest me.  Do ye think ye can handle it?”

      “Cross my heart,” I said, as his gently lowered his lips to mine. I sighed, almost a little whimper. 

      “I like that,” Jamie whispered against my lips.

      “What?” I asked. 

      “That wee noise ye made just now,” he smiled.  “Save that one for future reference.”

      “What do you mean?” I asked.

      “It makes me feel things,” Jamie said.  “It should come in handy in future.”

     Sighing, Jamie leaned his head back against the couch.  “So, Ripālle, ye asked lots of questions.  Club hopper? No.  Dinna have many clubs here, but they seem loud and shallow to me.  Smoking?  No.  Drugs?  Not anymore.  Drink?  Yes.  A lot?  No.  As to Scotland or America, I guess I’ve thought of going home.  I love it here, but it is very primitive,” Jamie said.  “And I wasna married when I thought of the future before.  What ye want matters to me, too, Claire.  I think we can decide together.  Seems to me teaching and nursing are both flexible careers—we could work anywhere.”

      “But what if we find out we don’t like the same things, or we have different interests, or you think I’m boring or I think you’re irresponsible?”

      “Claire.” Jamie squeezed me a little to stop my talking.  “You’re overthinking it.”

      “How?” I asked.

      “I’ve been here long enough that the locals call me ri Majeḷ.  That’s means I’m not a Ripālle—I’m simple.  I dinna need much.  Have ye seen the people who live on Arno?  Would ye say they were happy?”

      “Happier than anyone I’ve ever known in the states,” I said. 

      “And yet they have so little.  Food, water, a place to sleep.  Friends, family.  Work.  Laughter.  Beauty around.  I’m already happy, Ripālle.  Now, if ye add to that a woman I can laugh with, who happens to be very bonny,” he stopped and kissed me on the mouth, “Who has lots of curvy bits I want to touch,” he said, patting my hip, “And if she happens to want to put her hands on me, too; why, I am a lucky man indeed.  So ye see, I wasna offended today.  It made me happy to know ye want me.”

     I sat up straighter and put my hand behind his neck, pulling him down to me for an affectionate kiss.

     He grunted, a little husky sound in his throat.  “I like that,” I said, smiling teasingly.  “You should save that one for the future.”

      “And more than that,” Jamie said, “Ye can fix me when I get hurt.  And I can hold ye when you’re sad.  I’d say that’s all a pretty good place to start.”

     I sighed.  “Tell me about your parents, Jamie.”

     He shook his head sadly.  “They’re both gone.”

      “I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if I knew.”

      “Dinna fash, Ripālle,” Jamie said.  “I want you to know me, and that means my hurts as well as my happiness.”

      “Can you tell me about them?” I asked.

      “My ma is the reason I’m still a virgin,” Jamie said.  “She said once, ‘It’s easy for a man to give himself to anyone.  But your da gave me the gift of himself when we were married.  And I worshipped him for it, because I never worried if his heart was with someone else.’”

     It was a beautiful story, but somehow it made me feel guilty.  “Am I good enough, though?” I asked.  “I’m not a virgin.  I’m older than you.  I’ve had other men.  I haven’t saved myself for you.”

      “Doesna matter, Claire,” Jamie said, pressing his lips to my hair.  “Being with ye will be gift enough.”

     It was such a sweet thing to say that I reached up again to kiss him. 

     The look in Jamie’s eyes had intensified as we had continued to kiss.  “So, ye said ye willna molest me,” he said; I could almost swear he sounded disappointed.

      “No.  I’m going to protect your virginity as much as you have up to the present,”  I said solemnly.

      “What if I said I changed my mind, and that it doesna matter?” he asking, raising his eyebrows.

      “I would say, ‘Too bad, buck-O!  Not gonna do it.’”  I grinned at him.

      “What if I wanted to go to almost-second base again?” he asked, slipping his hand up my ribcage from my waist. 

     I pushed his hand away, and lectured him preachily.  “I know how to be a good girl.  _You_ need to stay out of the bathing suit area!”

      “I like swimming _naked_ ,” he said, kissing my neck under my ear. “There _is_ no bathing suit area.”

      “Jamie,” I pushed him away in irritation.  “Are you _testing_ me?”

      “No,” he said, shaking his head seriously.  “You’re so sexy when you’re holy.  Now I _want_ to be naughty.  Must be the Catholic boy in me, who figures he might as well have something to confess.”

      “How much have you had to confess?”  I asked him nosily.  “Second base...third base...Have you been either of those places before?”

      “All the way to second when I was 16,” he said, blushing.  “First time at almost third—today.”

      “You’re kidding!”  I exclaimed, instantly regretting it because it seemed to embarrass him.  “So, you’ve never had a girl go down on you?” I asked.

     He blushed furiously.  “No.”

      “So you have no preconceived notions about what it’s going to be like with me.”

     He nuzzled my neck again, then pulled my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers.  “No.  But I have a feeling I’m going to like it.  So, what if,” he whispered, “I said I wanted to go _all the way_ to third?”

      “I would say, ‘Goodnight, Jamie,’” I said, pulling myself reluctantly away from him. 

      “Are ye serious, Ripālle?” he asked, eyes hooded, his voice husky.

      “Yes,” I said with a sigh, then smiled.  “We are waiting until we get _married_.”

  



	18. Phoning Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one. . .heading in the wedding direction, though.
> 
> I really complicated my life by not killing off Claire's family. . . :)

     Revka woke up early, needing to get ready for school.  After she spent a few minutes having to repeatedly step over me as she got ready, I folded up the sleeping pad and went out to the living room with my blanket to get out of her way.  Jamie was sleeping on his back, his blanket twisted around his legs, his arm bent, hand by his face.  The early morning sun glinted off his copper chest hair as his stomach rose and fell with each breath.  I watched him for a moment, then went and knelt by him.  I stroked his arm gently, wondering if he was close to waking.  His lips curved into a slight smile, but he went on sleeping.  I tiptoed back to the other couch and curled up in my blanket.

     When Dougal and Moneo came out to the kitchen and started talking and preparing breakfast, it was impossible to sleep further.  Jamie woke and smiled at me, and I had the incredible pleasure of a hot shower, even though I minimized my time to save water.

 

     I was feeling nervous as we ate breakfast.  Dougal and Moneo headed off to work; Revka had taken the bus to school.  I had charged my very dead cell phone through the night, and now there was no excuse not to call my parents.

      “What’s the time difference between here and Boston?” Jamie asked, as I picked up the phone.

      “Oh, my parents don’t live in Boston,” I said.  “Hadn’t I told you?  My dad’s in the Air Force; he’s stationed at  Andersen Air Force Base on Guam.  That’s just 2 hours earlier than here.  Since it’s 8:30, it’ll be 6:30 there.  They’re usually up by now.”

      “Your father is in the United States military?” Jamie asked, as if incredulous that I hadn’t told him before. 

      “Well, he’s a chaplain,” I said. “So he’s not a fighting airman.”  

      “So your father is a pastor?  A Reverend?” Jamie seemed to find that amusing, though I didn’t know why.

      “Not a pastor as much as someone who provides spiritual and emotional counsel.”

      “What do people call him?” Jamie wondered.

      “Well, he’s Major Beauchamp,” I answered.  “But I call him Daddy.”

     His eyebrows rose in amusement.  “Daddy? Exactly how old are ye?”

     I was too nervous to laugh at his joke.  As I stared at my phone, Jamie got up and came to sit by me, putting his arm around my shoulders.  “No need to be nervous, Ripālle.  Or are yer parents scary people?”

      “No,” I shook my head.  “I just have no idea how I’m going to explain this.”  I took a deep breath, and pressed the send button.

      “Daddy!” I said, when he answered the phone, Jamie making a face at me in the background.  I turned away from him.  “How are you and Mom doing?” 

      “Claire-bear,” said my father.  It was good to hear his familiar voice over the line. “We didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.  We thought you wouldn’t be able to get to Majuro for a month or two.  We have gotten letters from you, though.”

      “It’s Claire?” I heard in the distance.  Seconds later, my mom picked up the other phone—landline, of course.  My parents couldn’t live completely in the present.  At least their phones no longer had those curly cords attaching the phone thingy to the other part.

      “Hey, kiddo,” she said.  Jamie smiled, hearing her voice over the line. 

      “She sounds like you,” he whispered.

      “So, what’s up?”  Daddy asked.  “It sounds like you had a pretty tough weekend.”

      “My letter about the funeral got to you already?” I asked.

      “Yeah,” said Mom.  “After such a fun day, too, snorkeling with the Scots.  Losing Maxson must have been incredibly hard.  I’m really sorry that you weren’t able to let Jamie comfort you,” she said.  “He sounds like such a nice guy, but Frank _is_ your fiancé.  You need to be careful.”

      “Speaking of which!”  I exclaimed, as Jamie looked at me, an amused expression on his face as he realized that I had written my parents about him.  He scooted closer to me so that he could hear better.

      “So, this is all going to come as a shock to you,” I said.  “But it’s better to just spell it out.  Frank broke up with me…”

     My mom gasped, “Oh, honey, no!  Are you okay?”

      “Yes,” I said, “but I’m not done yet.  Um, Jamie and I are getting married.”  There was absolute silence on the other end of the phone.  I waited.  Nothing.  “Hello?”  I said.

      “Claire-bear,” my dad said compassionately.  “Are you pregnant?”  Jamie’s eyes widened and he blushed slightly.

      “No, Dad,” I responded with a rueful chuckle.  “We’re not even sexually involved yet.”

     There was more silence.  “Do you need me to call you back?”  I asked.  “Obviously you guys are shocked.”

      “We need time to process,” said my mom reassuringly.  “I mean, Frank’s been part of the family for almost seven years.  That’s a lot to…that’s fast…Honey, you haven’t even been there a _month_.  How long have you known this boy?”

      “Long enough to know how I feel about him,” I said, feeling flushed and embarrassed.

      “Do you love him?” my mom asked.

     I looked at Jamie’s rugged face, his gentle eyes, his smile.  Without realizing it, I think, he had begun holding me tighter.

      “Yes,” I whispered.  I had to hold the phone away from my ear as Jamie took my chin in his hand to kiss me.

      “Are you still there?” my mom was asking as I put my ear back to the phone.

      “Yes.”

      “So, have you set a date?” she asked.

     I closed my eyes and blew out my breath slowly.  “We’re thinking, like, _tomorrow_ ,”

     More silence.

      “Come on, Claire, seriously,” Mom laughed.  “When?”

      “Seriously,” I said.  “I’ll explain the reasons in a letter, but we are getting married.  As soon as we can.”

      “Without even giving us a chance to see if we could come?” said my dad.  He sounded disappointed.  “It’s only eight hours by plane, Claire.  I want to be able to walk you down the aisle . . . or beach.”

     My mom spoke up, “Jeff, it’s going to be okay.  Claire, this does seem impulsive.  But you’re a big girl, and this is your life, and we trust you.  But would you be willing to wait until Friday?  Daddy and I will look at getting flights and we can let you know if we can make it.  When do you head back to Arno?”

      “Today,” I said, “If we can get everything done we need to.  If we go tomorrow, we’ll have to charter a boat.  But that’s just $300, which isn’t a problem.”

      “Call us before you leave, then, hon,” said my dad.  “And whether or not we can come, we love you, and we wish you all the best.”

     Jamie reached his hand for the phone, a question in his eyes.  “Hey, dad?” I said.  “I’ve got someone here who wants to talk to you.”

      “Just a minute, sir,” Jamie said, as he put the phone to his ear. He left me and walked back into Revka’s room, shutting the door.

     A few minutes later, Jamie came out and returned the phone to me.

      “Okay, Claire,” Daddy said.  “I give you my blessing, baby girl.  He seems like a fine young man—as long as he keeps his word.  I’ll talk to you soon.”

      “What did you say to them?” I asked, as I hung up the phone.  

      “I’ll tell ye sometime,” Jamie said.  “For now, we need to get things done.”

 

     It was a hectic day.  We stopped at the bank first, where we proceeded to have our first fight, which started with me saying, “Well, I have money in savings if you need it,” when talking about Jamie buying me a wedding ring.

      “No, I willna be borrowing money from ye to buy you a wedding ring,” he said stubbornly.

     I stood in front of him, and put my hands on my hips.  “Okay, Jamie Fraser, if you say that you want the kind of marriage that’s forever, then here’s the deal.  A nurse makes more than a teacher, period.      Do you have a problem with that?  Because I’m not going to be a separate bank accounts kind of girl.  I had enough of that for the past seven years, and see how easy it was to break ties with Frank?  If we want to stay married forever, we need to entangle ourselves so separating is next to impossible.  And that means what’s mine is yours.”

      “But can you see, Claire,” Jamie retorted, “That a wedding ring is different?  I’ll happily use your money to buy food and clothes and go on vacations.  But this is going to be from me to you, and I willna be using your money, even if it means it’s a simple band because I canna afford more.  Can you simplify yer desires, or do you _need_ a gigantic diamond, Ripālle?” 

     His pet name for me had never sounded so snide and mean.  I stopped and put my hand on his chest and stared at him.

      “Yer still wearing your engagement ring from Frank,” he said, forehead wrinkled, as he put his hand over mine.  I looked down at my ring finger, stunned.  The white gold ring with a princess cut diamond, probably several thousand dollars in value, was still there.

      “I’m so sorry, Jamie,” I said, pulling it off my finger and dropping it into my purse.  “I hadn’t even. . .I didn’t think. . .I’m sorry.  Simple is fine.  I’ll love whatever you choose.”

 

     As we waited in line at the government offices, we scribbled down a list of things to take care of.  I wanted better curtains for the apartment, and Jamie said he needed to get a few things for the house as well.  We needed to get to a grocery store where we could buy rice and canned meats like tuna and Spam for the party, as well as beverages and flour for the ladies to create whatever form of dessert they could.  It was a little strange to think of a wedding without a cake.

     And we wanted to get it all done by four when the Jolok boat left.

     For an hour and a half we separated, each working on our own to-do list.

     For my part, I found a salon where I could get a pedicure, and then decided to get waxed.  I left a bit of nature—no need to stun the poor boy, but I wanted to make it easy to find what he needed to.

     I also found a little shop that had a pretty white sundress that would work for my wedding dress, as well as some lingerie—pretty chemises, and some clingy beach cover-ups.  I liked the way they let my breasts move, concealing some of my body, but revealing the shape of my breasts and the rise of my nipples.  In the changing room I looked at everything with a young virgin in mind.  I felt like I was giving him a gift, and choosing lingerie was like buying special wrapping paper.  He was right; there was definitely something to be said for knowing I would be his first. 

     _And only_ , a little voice in my mind said.  For a moment, my heart stopped.  How could a young man be satisfied with a woman five years older than him?  How would _Jamie_ ever be satisfied with _me_?  He wanted this to be forever.  Could I really commit to him?  What if we found out we didn’t like each other?  I was almost hyperventilating with panic. 

     I took a deep breath.  _This is Jamie.  Your friend—your strong, funny, good-humored, sexy friend. You trust him, you feel safe with him, you love him, you’re attracted to him.  Other long-lasting marriages have started with less._

     When we met back up again, Jamie looked giddy, but I must have had a similar expression on my face, because he asked me, “What have you been doing, Ripālle?  Ye look like yer keeping a secret.”

      “So do you,” I said, which made him grin and hug me.

     Our last stop was the supermarket, where we spent a crazy amount of money on food and drinks, and then we lugged everything to the Jolok boat dock.

     While we waited for the boat, I called my parents again.  They were still working on it, they said, but if we could wait til Friday evening, they would try their hardest to come for the wedding.

     The tiny boat pulled up to the dock, and was quickly loaded with our boxes as well as a large crate of some kind.  With the boat riding low in the water, I wondered whether we’d make it to our own wedding, either.

 

     I watched Jamie (his seasickness relieved by a healthy preventive dose of Dramamine), carrying on a conversation with a wrinkled little jibū (grandma), listening to her and talking to her with bright eyes and a big grin. She threw her head back and laughed, revealing toothless gums. 

     Running through my mind were my dad’s final words on the phone.  He was choked up as he said goodbye. “Claire-bear,” he said. “I know he’s young; I know this is fast, but I see why you’re doing it.  This one’s a keeper.” 

     Daddy shared the gist of what Jamie had said to him:

      “It would crush me, but if ye say no, sir, I will not marry your daughter.  

     I vow to ye, sir, I will love yer daughter well.

     I know to the depths of my soul that she is the woman with whom I want to spend my future.

     I will keep her safe; protect her at the cost of my life.

     And I will love her, when you are no longer able to.”

     I turned my eyes toward Arno.  The blue sky, green trees, and white sand swirled in front of me, and I lifted my hand to wipe away the tears. I felt terrified and certain at the same time.

     In seconds, a warm body was behind me, an arm wrapped around my shoulders, lips kissed my cheek, and a voice in my ear said, “I’m here, Ripālle.  Let’s go home, and then let’s get married.”

  



	19. Restraint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire being "horndogs" while they wait to get married. . .

      Our day had been so busy, filled with stress and decisions and a long boat trip over the rolling ocean, that when the pickup dropped us off at dusk in front of my house with countless boxes and bags—and that mysterious crate— I stood in paralyzed silence on the gravel. 

       “Come here,” said Jamie, grabbing me by the hand and leading me toward the beach. The pickup had jolted off with people that needed to travel on to Jabo; it was getting dark outside. 

       “I’ve been wanting you all day, Claire,” he said huskily.  “I need you in my arms.”

      We had reached the beach, standing on the grassy lip of sand that had been eaten away by the high tides.  Pale pink light still emanated from behind islands on the other side of the lagoon, but the sky was becoming progressively darker, slowly filling with stars.  Jamie sat down on a level spot carpeted with short salt grass, and I moved to sit next to him.  He swept me into his arms and kissed me until I was breathless.

       “Oh, God, I want you so bad,” he said.  “I want to take you back to your cabin and have you naked and touch your body,” he kissed my neck, whispering in my ear, “Your breasts, and your lovely round arse,” he groaned, his hands heading there as he spoke.  “I can’t wait.”

      I reluctantly urged his hands away, though I had absolutely no desire to be a source of restraint, and very little confidence that either one of us was going to make it until Friday night. “It’s just two more days,” I said reassuringly.

       “Two days too long,” said Jamie.  “How does anyone stay a virgin until they get married?”

       “They don’t,” I said, laughing.  “You said it yourself. It’s a rarity.  I think it’s 5% or less of women.  And who knows what percent of men?  A guy could stay a virgin until he was 22, if he lived in the 1700s, maybe, and only found out he was going to get married, like a day in advance. . .”

       “Yeah, that’s a likely situation,” said Jamie skeptically.

      Of course,” I kissed him firmly, “That just means you are _exceptional_.”

       “I like that,” said Jamie with just a trace of pride in his voice, then shaking his head.  “But I’m not sure it’s worth it.”

       “Not worth it?”  I said.  “To have your wedding night be exciting and fresh?  I kind of wish I was still a virgin, so I could experience it with you.”

       “Nah,” said Jamie.  “It’ll be good for _one_ of us to ken what they’re doing.”

      I smiled and kissed him thoroughly, displaying evidence of my expertise.

       “How virgin-y do those people stay?” Jamie asked, his hand creeping back toward my breast. I didn’t stop him this time, and he groaned when he had me in his hand.  “Oh, Ripalle.”

       “Probably not very,” I responded with a little gasp, twining my fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.

       “Aren’t there some things we can do that don’t really count?” Jamie asked, his hand sliding up the inside of my thigh.

       “It’s just going to make it harder,” I said, “To wait, I mean,” I added, as he looked at me, confused. “But it will do _that_ , too.”  I grinned.

      Jamie grimaced and adjusted his body under me.  “I dinna think it’s possible for it to be harder than it is right now.”

      I resisted a very strong urge to see if I should believe him.

      Finally, Jamie squared his shoulders and gently slid me off his lap to sit next to him. “I did just talk to your da today,” said Jamie. “I should definitely keep my hands off Major Beauchamp’s daughter, if only out of respect for her father.”

       “What about what Miss Beauchamp wants?” I asked.

       “I think Miss Beauchamp would appreciate a strong and principled man as a husband,” Jamie said, slowly standing up.  He reached out his hand to me.  “Itok, Ripalle.  Let’s get the packages into your house. Once we’re done, I’m gonna go home, punch Angus in the face, and then I’m gonna hug him.  After that, I’m going to go to bed, to have verra inappropriate dreams about my wife-to-be.”

 

      It was very strange to return to clinic work in the morning.  Fortunately, life had gone on in my absence.  There were a few sores and rashes to attend to, a cough, an eye infection.  I even got to pull out a rotten tooth, which was definitely outside my comfort zone. 

      After school finished, Rupert, Angus, and Jamie showed up at the house, carrying Jamie’s dresser from their apartment, along with a bunch of hand tools.  I worked on hanging the new curtains as they took apart the bunk bed and reassembled it as a king-sized frame.  In Majuro we had purchased a thick mattress pad and king-sized sheets, so we were able to put the twins side by side to make a bed that would fit both of us.

      As the boys continued to work, I went outside for a minute.  They couldn’t realize I could hear them very clearly through the windows.

       “So,” asked Rupert, “Have ye popped yer cherry yet, man?”

       “No,” Jamie responded, “But I ken she wants me.  Dinna ken how I’m going to keep my hands off her ‘til tomorrow.  I’m not being very successful so far.”

       “I still can’t believe ye got up the courage to ask her,” said Angus.  “Wi’ Dougal there, and everything.”

       “But I didna ask her, not at first,” said Jamie.  “It was her idea.”

      Rupert scoffed.  “Jammy bastard.” (Unfairly lucky)

       “I am, that,” said Jamie.  “I canna believe she wants me.”

       I cooked dinner for the boys as thanks for their help.  Angus and Rupert took up residence quite happily on the bed Jamie and I would be consummating our marriage in the next day.

     “This should be interesting,” said Angus, .  “I’ve not been to a riMajel wedding before where there were two white people getting married. 

     “Have they given ye the _nuknuk_ yet?” Rupert asked.

     “Whatever is a _nuknuk_?”  I asked.

     “The virginity cloth,” said Angus, as if that was the most normal thing in the world.  I stared at him, confused.

      “Yeah, after ye get married, the party will come back here; the two of you will come inside, and…you know,” said Rupert.  “And then you’ll toss out a cloth with Jamie’s boaby on it,”

      “Boaby?” I asked, afraid I already knew what it meant. 

     “Yeah, to show if ye are a virgin.  To see if there’s blood.”

     “But I’m _not_ a virgin,” I said, shocked.  “That’s _obscene_.  And my _parents_ might be here.”

     “That’s the way it’s done here,” said Jamie, shrugging his shoulders in resignation.  “Whether it’s obscene or not.”

     “But, Jamie, what will that mean for you, for us?  Does it matter?” 

     “Not too much,” he said.  “If my family were here, and if they cared whether ye were a virgin, then it might.  But wi’out a groom’s family to object, it willna be a problem.”

     “Except for the fact that everyone on the island will know that I wasn’t a virgin when we got married.”

     “They already assumed it,” said Angus.  “Dinna fash.”

     “Wait a minute,” I said, suddenly horrified further than I’d already been.  “Did you just say they expect us to come in here and… while everyone is outside?”

     Rupert and Angus made quite a show of bouncing on the bed vigorously enough to make the whole apartment rock, groaning and panting for effect.

      I looked at Jamie, who was blushing and shaking his head.

     “You’re lucky you’re hot,” I said to him.  “Otherwise, I would just be calling this thing off.”  He grinned.

Jamie headed home with Rupert and Angus some time after dark, which was probably a good idea.  I didn’t need any more reminding of what the next day held.

 

      Friday afternoon when I was done with clinic, I strolled to the school to visit Jamie.  I couldn’t be bothered about the whole ‘Don’t see your bride-to-be on your wedding day’ superstition.  I just needed to see him so I could calm myself down.  The children were still in class, and I peeked into his classroom. 

      Jamie had his back to the class as he drew a diagram on the chalkboard.  As he sketched, he explained in Marshallese.  I slipped into an empty desk and crouched down slightly behind the student in front of me. When he was done drawing, he turned and explained it again in English. 

       “So,” Jamie said, pointing to the picture of a mountain with a ring around it and some bumpy waves surrounding it.  “Atolls begin as volcanoes, pushing up from the ocean floor.  If the volcano lasts long enough, coral begins to grow on the sides of the volcano, becoming a fringing reef.”

      He turned back to the board again, and drew a picture of a small hill in the middle of a ring, explaining in Marshallese as he did.  “Over time, the volcano goes dormant and begins to sink, or subside, back toward the ocean floor.  If the coral grows fast enough, it keeps pace with the sinking volcano, continuing to stay right under or up to the water.  A lagoon forms between the reef and the volcano, and dirt carried by the wind begins to create sediment that fills the lagoon and drops on top of the coral as well, building up the island.”

      The children were turning and pointing at me, giggling and whispering.  Jamie turned around and gave the class a teacher glare before drawing his final picture on the board, explaining in Majel. 

      He looked confused by the noise as he duplicated his explanation in English.  “Finally, the volcano has completely subsided, leaving a crater where the lagoon is, but the coral continues to grow, protecting the island, and sediment continues to be laid down, making the islands higher above the ocean surface.”

      When the whispering and giggling continued, Jamie began to look angry.  “Jab keroro,” he said.  “Stop talking.”  The kids continued to giggle and whisper.  “Jaje ṃanit ñak ṃanit,” he said.  “You are being _very_ rude.”

       “ _Joḷọk bōd_ , Meester Shamie,” a voice spoke out.  I looked and saw that it was Riti, my little acquaintance from the first week on Arno.  “We’re sorry.  It is Miss Peachay.  She is _jijet_ —ah, sit in your class.”

      I peeked my head out from behind the student in front of me, and Jamie shook his head at me .

       “Miss Peachay,” he said sternly.  “ _Itok ije_.  Come here.”  He motioned for me to come up to his desk, then lectured me.  “You’re causing trouble.  You will have to stay after school today.”  The kids broke out in outrageous giggles. 

       “Mr. Shamie,” said one adorable little girl.  “You and Miss Peachay will marry tonight?  _Koṃro kōmiro palele buñniin_?”

       _“Aet_ ,” said Jamie, smiling down at me.  “ _Ej lukuun likatu_?” 

      The kids all shouted yes in response to whatever he’d asked. “That’s not fair,” I complained.  “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

       “He say,” said one little boy in the front row, so embarrassed he was unable to meet my eyes, “That you are bery preetty.”  The children giggled again.

      Trying to be respectful of the Majel cultural mores, I kept my distance from Jamie by sitting in a chair by his desk at the front of the room as he sat down, finished up the class period and excused the children from class.

      He leaned back in his chair when all the children were gone.

       “Meester Shamie,” I said, coming to stand next to him, leaning on the edge of his desk.  “I’m impressed with your grasp of Majel.”

       “I _have_ been here four years,” he said.  “And my Auntie Moneo, obviously, is Marshallese, so I had lots of practice.”

       “I wish I was fluent in a second language,” I said.  “We Americans tend to be pretty terrible about foreign languages.”

       “Well,” said Jamie, “This isn’t just my second language.  I know Majel, German, obviously English, and a wee bit of the Gàidhlig.”

       “Gay lag?” I asked (saying it with a terrible American accent).  “What’s that?”

       “The mother tongue of the Scots!” he exclaimed.  “Ye didna know that?”

       “Really?”  I asked.  “Scotland had a different language before English?”

      Jamie was so angry his eye was twitching.  His fierce voice rising with enough volume that I wasn’t quite certain whether he was joking or not, he exclaimed.  “Just goes to show you that Britain _succeeded_ in destroying Scot culture.  They took our swords, our dirks, our tartans.  And apparently, they took our language as well!”

       “I’m sorry I didn’t know,” I said.  “Now I do.  So that’s the language you speak in when you cuddle me?  I like it; I like the way it sounds.”

      Jamie narrowed his eyes at me and shook his head.  “I dinna think I can marry ye anymore, Ripālle.” 

       “Oh, no,” I said flirtatiously.  “And here I was _really_ looking forward to being married.”

      He continued to look at me, silent, eyebrows raised.

       “Well,” I said.  “Maybe I can make it up to you.”

      He looked me up and down.  “And how d’ye intend to do that?” he asked, grinning.

       “Did you drop something on the floor just now?” I asked, losing the flirtatious tone.  Jamie looked around, confused, but as I lowered myself to the floor and retreated under the desk in front of him, his pupils dilated.

       “ _What_ are ye doing?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at me.

      He was wearing the sarong, with nothing under it.

 

       “Hey, Jamie!”  The voice was Rupert’s; Jamie’s legs stiffened.  “Have ye seen Claire?  Someone said they saw her come this way, and I thought maybe she was with you.”

      Jamie cleared his throat.  “She stopped by, but she had…lots to…do.”  He grabbed my hair to make me stay still.  “What did you need…her for?” His voice sounded a little labored.  I wondered if Rupert noticed anything strange.

       “Oh, it’s just—her parents are here.”  Rupert said.  “Maybe you want to go greet them, then?  Sounds like they like ye okay.”

       “Aye, I’ll finish up here in a minute or two and head down.  Are they at the clinic, then?”

       “Yeah,” said Rupert.  “How’re ye feeling, Virgin?  Are ye excited yet?”

       “More than you could possibly know!” Jamie exclaimed.

      Allowing Rupert a few moments to leave, I emerged from under the desk to find my fiancé sitting, looking dazed. 

       “You’re stopping?” he asked breathlessly.

       “Well, yeah, my parents are here!” I said.  “C’mon, Virgin,” I joked, grabbing him by the hand.

       “I’m not satisfied,” Jamie said, following me, “But I dinna really feel like a virgin anymore either, Ripālle.”

      I turned back to him.  “Welcome to virginity in the 21st century, Jamie.”  I pulled him down for a gentle kiss, but lightly licked his lips halfway through, making him gasp.  “And don’t worry, after tonight, you won’t be one anymore.”

  


  



	20. To Have and To Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited (for us, at least) wedding! A little sweet, a little short, but writing at this pace doesn't leave a huge amount of time for revision. :)

     They were standing out front of the clinic when Jamie and I arrived, finally flushed from the brisk walk instead of our recent behavior.  My mom, petite and brunette, her brown curls generously interspersed with white strands, immediately approached and gave me and then Jamie a hug.

     My father was more reticent, hanging back and eying Jamie with critical curiosity. I had hugged him, and Jamie reached out his hand, which Daddy shook firmly, but then he took Jamie by the arm.  “Let’s walk a little, son,” he said, as they headed down the road toward Ine.  Jamie looked back at me with wide eyes, and I shrugged my shoulders helplessly, mouthing, “Sorry!”

      “How did you get here so fast?” I asked my mom.  “The Jolok boat doesn’t arrive on the island until six.”

      “We went ahead and chartered a boat,” Mom said, gesturing toward my apartment, “with Dougal and Moneo.”  It was then I noticed Jamie’s aunt and uncle, hanging back to allow us time for greetings with my parents.  

      “Where will you stay?” I asked, suddenly wondering how we could accommodate so many guests—on our wedding night. “The closest hotel is in Arno Arno.”

      “Dougal is friends with the Iroij,” Mom said. “That’s the local ruler, right?”  I nodded in response. “He is able to host us in his palace,” my mom explained. “Though Dougal assures us that the term ‘palace’ is used loosely here.”

     I hugged my mom again. “I still can’t believe you’re here!”

     Mom wrapped her arm around my shoulders.  “There are a _lot_ of astounding details and things beyond belief in the past few days,” she winked. “Now tell me about my new son-in-law.”

 

     The local women had absconded with the extra food we brought on Thursday morning.  They’d parceled it out to prepare rice and banana bread and donuts at home ahead of time, and as we stood there, they were bringing pots and wood to Meto’s house next door and to Plurose and Randy’s house on the other side.  Men carried stringers of fresh fish, and several also brought the freshly plucked bodies of chickens.  Children skipped up with rolls of pandanus mats which they laid out in the grassy area on the clinic property.  A few men came carrying sawhorses and boards, and soon some makeshift tables had been set up as well.

     I took my mom out to the iar, where we’d decided on having an open air wedding.  “Oh, Claire,” she said, squeezing me again as she looked out over the turquoise lagoon toward the islands on the other side, “It’s so beautiful.”  She sat down on the sandy grass, ironically in the same spot Jamie and I had been making out two nights previously.

      “I’d like to help you fix your hair and get dressed,” she said, glancing at her watch.  “It’s 4:15 and the wedding is planned for 6:30.  But please tell me you have ten minutes to tell your mama how in heck you got engaged so quickly?”

      “Sure," I said, sitting down next to her.  "I met Jamie my second day here, because he had a huge gash on his…bottom,” I said, trying to be sensitive to my mother’s language sensitivities.  “And I had to give him stitches.”

     She looked at me with a smirk.  “Oh, Claire,” she said, “That’s always how it always starts—looking at their hineys!”  I rolled my eyes at her.  "So, tell me more about him."

     "He’s Scottish.  He’s a teacher.  He's really sweet.  And out here in this place where they never show affection in public, he's been the one who gives me hugs and holds me when I'm sad.  He’s been my best friend here."  

     "But best friends is still a long way away from marriage," Mom said.

     "The catalyst was really my incredible cultural stupidity, paired with Frank breaking up with me," I said.  "I was so devastated, I went to Jamie to be comforted.  But it was nighttime, and afterward I just didn't want to be alone, so I slept in his bed with him."  My mother said nothing, just raised her eyebrows at me.

     "So, we ended up getting in trouble because I walked back in the morning in my pajamas, and Dougal believed my ability to be effective was damaged because they wouldn't respect me. He said he should probably terminate my service and send me home.  And he didn't feel like he could punish me and not Jamie, so Jamie was in danger of losing his position.  So I proposed marriage."

     Surprised and amused, my mom shook her head at me.  "You did?  Just to avoid going back to the states?"

     “I know it seems fast, Mom,” I said.  “I know he’s young.  I know Frank just broke up with me.  But there is just clarity in being with him.  I feel safe and loved when I’m around Jamie, and he doesn’t hold himself back from me.  He wants to be married forever, and I just _knew_.”

      “And this beautiful boy is also a _virgin_?” My mom asked, as she made a funny face at me.  “Still?  You’ve been engaged two days.”

      "Okay, he's _mostly_ a virgin," I joked, honestly.  

      "Oh, Claire," said Mom, "That's my girl!  Does he know what he's signing up for?"

      “Neither of us do," I said.  "And we've pretty much agreed that that's okay."

     "You know, kiddo," she said.  "Even if your dad and I thought we knew what we were signing up for, we had no idea what life would hand to us.  And you're right.  It's been okay."  She cocked her head and gave me a look of blessing and permission, like she was satisfied.

     "Come on, Mom,” I said, hopping up and reaching a hand down to her.  “Let’s go visit the ladies and see if we can help.”

     With an hour left, Mom and I retreated to my apartment.  While I had squatted and chatted with the ladies who were cooking, she had wandered around the property, finding some delicate pink and white flowers.  Having the same ridiculously curly hair as I did, my mom had plenty of practice getting it to obey.  She pinned my hair up, and once I’d put on my simple white dress, she wove flowers into the hair around the bun. 

     I hadn’t typically been wearing much makeup because the humidity made it run too easily, but I put on some mascara and eyeliner, and a little bit of lip pencil and gloss.

     Jamie and I had decided we’d keep the ceremony pretty laid back and traditional.  Traditional vows, ring, kiss the bride.  The sun would be going down on the ocean side, so the sky would be pretty, but no glaring sun behind us.  We didn’t feel like we’d known each other long enough to write our vows to be shared in front of everyone. 

     But I wanted something personal; I wanted Jamie to know that I truly did care for him and want him.  So I’d suggested that we each write something to the other that we could go out to the water and read to each other alone.  Jamie heartily agreed to the idea, so I had spent some time writing my thoughts the night before.  I took the time to read it over once more, eliminate references to Frank by name, and rewrite it neatly.  My draft was a mess, and even a little tear-stained, to be honest.

     The time was approaching, and I became more and more anxious.  My mom could see it, and despite the fact that the two of us were virtually the same size, she pulled me down on her lap.

      “Baby, what’s going on?” she asked.

      “How can I promise forever, Mom?” I asked.  “I don’t even know if I could have promised forever to Frank.”

      “I think that’s partly the point, Claire,” she said.  “You yourself told me that something in your heart recognized something in Jamie.  He loves you well, doesn’t he?”

      “He holds me when I’m upset,” I said gesturing toward her arms around me and gingerly dabbing around my eyes with a tissue.  “And I guess I was used to that, growing up.  The thought of having him close, whenever I need him, of not having to say goodnight, of not having to send him home…” I sighed longingly.    

     My mom held my face in her hands.  “It will be wonderful.  But Claire, there may be times when he won’t be able to give you what you need, though, and that doesn’t mean it’s over.  It just means he’s human. . .You’re going to have to give him grace, just like Daddy and I have given each other, just as we have given you.”

      “Oh, Mom,” I said, leaning over to hug her.  “I’m so glad you responded to my crazy decision and came to be with me.”

     She grinned.  “We gave you grace—just like that, Claire.”

     I heard guitar and ukulele music coming from the lagoon beach.

      “Where’s Daddy?” I asked suddenly.  “Isn’t he going to walk me down the ‘aisle’?”

      “Oh, didn’t he or Jamie tell you?” Mom said.  “Jamie asked him to do the ceremony for you kids so it would be in English.  And **_I_** get to walk my baby down to the beach.”

     I slipped my feet into my sparkly flip-flops, lifted my skirts with one hand, took my mom’s hand with the other, and headed down to the beach. 

 

     The islanders were all gathered along the pathway, and as we walked closer to the beach, they followed us, settling on the grass and mats on the sand where they could see us.  Moneo and Dougal sat with the Iroij and his wife.

     My dad and Jamie stood halfway to the water.  I realized we hadn’t even considered what height the tides would be; we were very lucky that it was low tide, so there was actually a beach to be married on!

     Jamie turned and watched us approach, a wide smile brightening his face.  Up until now I’d only seen Jamie in shorts and tee shirts—and occasionally the sarong. Now he was wearing khaki pants, and a blue button-down shirt, with a dark blue blazer.  His ruddy red curls, which had been combed for the occasion, now were nearly burgundy in the fading pink light of sunset.  He was heartbreakingly handsome, and he had eyes only for me.

     My mom walked me all the way to Jamie, who held his arm out to me.  He paused, though, to hug my mom, and to give her a hand as she sat down with Dougal and Moneo.

 

     My brain couldn’t internalize much of what my dad said.  I only saw the look of love on my daddy’s face, and the adoration for me in Jamie’s eyes, and I spent most of my time trying not to cry. 

     Our vows included the basics. . .to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death.

     And then when we brought out our rings for each other, both of us having chosen simple gold bands for each other, we repeated words which for some reason had always delighted me, perhaps just because I’d always been a sexual person: “With this ring, I thee wed; With my body, I thee worship; And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”

      I looked at Jamie, anticipating, for a moment, being worshiped by and worshiping that particular  body. 

     And after that, Jamie and I walked to the water’s edge. He was hesitant, his eyes concerned.

      “Are you okay, Claire?” he said.  “You seem so sad and serious.”

      “I’m just trying not to cry,” I answered, and proceeded at that precise moment to completely fail at my efforts.

      Jamie moved toward me, tucked me up under his chin, and held me close. 

      “Everyone’s watching,” I said.  “The Marshallese don’t show affection publicly.”

      “I think they’ll excuse us today,” Jamie said, with a kiss on my forehead.  “and I think I should keep holding you, because if this doesn’t make you cry, it might do it for me.”  He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, and in the fading evening light, he read to me.  

 

**_My Turn_ **

It could have been when you brought us food,  
Or when you showed me how to wear a sarong,

wrapping it around the curve of your hips.  
Or when you stitched up my injury so calmly and capably,

  
Maybe it was when you sent Angus and Rupert away and they obeyed you.  
Maybe it was when I first focused on you, the wild-haired new nurse

who put herself under my arm and authoritatively walked me into the clinic,  
put her hands in my pants to undo the drawstring, and took off my shorts.

Or when you made dirty jokes and surprised all of us.

Whenever it was, at some point I realized that independence  
isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

That it was okay to need someone, to want someone.  
  
And I wanted you, Ripālle, you with your brown eyes and wild, curly hair.

What cemented “us” was when you needed me, too.  
That you cried in my arms when I came back to hug you goodnight.  
When you talked to me through the door because I couldn’t come in,  
  
And you didn’t want to be alone after the drunk villagers visited you.  
When you held my hand to go snorkeling, so you wouldn’t feel alone and afraid.

I knew you needed me.  
I could see it in your eyes at Najor’s baby’s funeral.  
It was killing you to be apart from me.

  
He should have dropped everything and come with you.  
  
Or if he had loved you well enough, you wouldn’t have left him.  
When you came to me, devastated by him, it was being with me that comforted you.  
  
It was my arms, my body, my heart, that sheltered you.

  
I loved you already.  
When you said you wanted to marry me, with your hand in mine,  
I couldn’t believe how lucky I was.

  
When my ma was leaving the world, she pulled me close to her.  
  
“Jamie,” she said, “Promise me, son, that you will only ever give your body  
to someone who looks inside you and _sees_ you.  
  
Yer braw and bonny, and lots of girls would give anything to lay claim to ye.  
  
It’s easy for a man to give himself to anyone who will have him.  
  
But yer da gave me the gift of himself when we were married.  
And I worshiped him for it, because  
I never worried if his heart was with someone else.”  
  


When my ma died, my da had sobbed,  
“I willna ever love another woman like I loved her.”  
And I knew he was telling the truth.

  
That’s the reason I stayed a virgin.  
I had plenty of opportunities,  
girls who would drop their knickers or get on their knees for me,  
but I couldna do it.  
 Not wi’ my ma’s face before me,  
saying, “Ye’ve got a gift to give, sweet boy.  
Save it for someone ye love.”

It didn’t keep me from theft, drunkenness, or brawling,  
which is why I’m no welcome in Scotland right now.

  
But when I realized I loved you, I was grateful  
I had saved myself,  
and tonight, I’m giving myself to you.

 

     He wasn’t lying.  His eyes were wet, and mine could barely read my own words for him. But he held me close as he listened to my hesitant voice.

**_Enough_ **

I didn’t expect to fall in love   
Not with anyone but him, not so fast

But something in you spoke to my soul   
And somehow you could hear my heart, even when I didn’t speak.

 You have freely given me what I needed without me having to ask   
Comfort, affection, attention, time   
Security, protection, assistance, help

This seems sudden, and at times I worry   
That I am just using you to fill the empty spaces

The space left by disappointment,   
The space left by a five year engagement   
without a wedding   
without a baby   
  
The space left by aging,   
Of not being where I thought I’d be at 27   
The space left by loneliness,

 I don’t want to just _use_ you   
So I hope that somehow I can fill your spaces, too   
That somehow you’ll need me

 That in some way my arms will be long enough   
My body big enough   
My heart strong enough   
To hold you   
When you need to be held.

 

     “Oh, Claire,” Jamie said, pulling me to him.  “You _are_ enough.” He turned and called out to my dad, “Can I just kiss her here, Major Beauchamp?”

      “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” my daddy called back to us.  “Okay, Jamie, **_now_** you may kiss the bride.  And you, Claire, may kiss the groom.”

      And so we did. 

 

 

 

Beautiful Artwork by Cantrix_grisea  



	21. First Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the wedding comes the wedding night--and in the Marshall Islands, a few curious customs as well!

     Outside, the village men were laughing raucously. Children ran around the property on the iar side, screaming, probably hopped up on the red dye from the punch we’d provided.

     I’d chosen a cream colored babydoll to wear for the wedding night, with a plunging neckline between lacy triangular cups, skinny satin straps, and a gauzy skirt, with a pair of lacy panties underneath.  Until Jamie came in and shut the door from prying eyes, though, I’d thrown on a satin robe and tied it at the waist.

     Over the crowd, I could hear Jamie’s rich laugh.  He was still not coming.  I was aching to have him with me, eager to finally have my hands on his firm muscles, but at the same time, extremely self-conscious about what this would be like—having sex with Jamie for the first time with a crowd of people waiting outside. I tried to calm myself by walking around the house.  

     It was amazing the difference made by a hardworking man and his friends. The bunk beds had been disassembled and then reassembled into a king-sized frame, which now held two twin beds side by side.  King sized sheets and a good mattress pad camouflaged the seam between the mattresses, and with the secure frame, we wouldn’t be falling in between the beds accidentally any time soon.  I trailed my finger along the covers; I wasn’t going to be sleeping alone anymore.

     Above the bed were our thick new drapes covering the window.  I had wanted privacy, and these would provide it.

      “Maybe the best purchase I made in Majuro,” I said, stroking the fabric of the new curtains. 

     The lighting of the house was harsh, so I turned off the fluorescents and went old school—lighting a bunch of hurricane candles in several parts of the room. Their gentle glow was calming and lovely.  I stood in the middle of the cabin and looked around. “I guess that will have to do,” I said.

      “Ye talking to yerself, Ripālle?” the voice behind me asked.  I hadn’t heard the door open. Jamie closed it behind himself.

     He stood there expectantly, still wearing the linen button-down shirt and khaki slacks; he had shed the jacket some time ago because it was so warm, though the sun had gone down several hours before.

     He had something white in his left hand, which he set down quickly, facing me with a hesitant smile.

      “The party’s still going strong,” I said, motioning toward the clear crowd sounds that were coming from outside. 

      “Aye,” said Jamie, “And it will be, until we’re _done_.” He nonchalantly indicated the white cloth that he’d just set down.

     I must have looked worried, because he was next to me in three steps, wrapping his arms around me. “It's okay, Ripālle,” he whispered into my hair.  “I’m here.”

      “Thanks for the reminder,” I sighed, murmuring into the front of his shirt.  “This, at least, feels right.”  I looked up and met his eyes, still held in his arms. “I’m not sure why, but I feel so nervous.”

      “Ye canna see my knees knocking and hands trembling?” said Jamie with a small smile. “I think it’s a combination of terror and excitement.”

     I lifted my face to be kissed, after which Jamie lightly put his hands on my cheeks, turning my head to press his lips to my forehead.

      “Shall we?” I said.

      “Unless you want to talk for a bit,” he said, the intensity in his eyes making it clear which he would rather do.

      “We might as well,” I said, meeting his eyes innocently.

     He reached his hand toward the front of my robe, asking permission with his eyes.  I relaxed my arms to my sides so he could access it, untying the sash, putting his fingers under the edges of the robe by my neck, and then slipping it off my shoulders.

     I could see the pace of his breathing increase as he looked at me in the nightgown, his eyes darkening with desire, his shoulders shuddering upward and then falling.

     He reached his hand out hesitantly, brushing his fingers across my clavicle, then slowly drawing his long fingers downward until he was gently cupping my breast.  He groaned. “Oh, Claire, what it is to touch you, to see you.”  He reached his hand behind my head to pull me to him for a feverish kiss. 

      “You’re still wearing a lot,” I said, reaching up to the buttons on his shirt.  After I’d unbuttoned the first few buttons, I ran my finger lightly down the deep indentation between his pectorals, making Jamie let his breath out in a gasp.  He was trembling.  I unbuttoned the rest of the buttons, pulling the shirttails out of his slacks, and then pushed the shirt off his shoulders as he shrugged out of it.

     I’d seen Jamie shirtless before, but not when I could touch him or kiss him however I wanted to.  As I put my hands to the button of his pants, I kissed his chest and then gently licked one of his nipples.

     He acted like he’d been electrocuted, startling and then leaning forward to kiss me again. “Christ, Claire, you’re going to drive me mad!” he whispered.  I’d continued to unzip his trousers as we kissed, and as I reached inside the waistband to push them off his hips, I realized he wasn’t wearing underwear.  I met his eyes, making sure he didn’t mind being naked, and quickly got my answer.  He reached his own hands to the waistband of his pants and pushed them off, kicking them to the side once he’d shaken them off his ankles.

     I didn’t want to seem too eager, but I stepped backward to look at him.  I must have groaned, because he grinned.  He was muscular, big and lean at the same time.  I was about to reach for him, and he shook his head.

      “I need to see _you_ ,” he said.  I looked down.  The chemise and panties were quite sheer, but I could understand his desire to have nothing between us.

     Jamie stepped toward me, and then hooked his finger under one strap and pulled it off over my shoulder.  He bent to kiss my neck and breast, then removed the other strap.  I helped him push it downward over my hips, and then stepped out of it.  Jamie backed up and eyed me appreciatively, then returned to me, kneeling before me.  He gently kissed me below my navel, as he pulled my panties away from my skin and over my hips.

     By then I was about to jump out of my skin with desire.  I reached my hand to him to help him up. 

      “Itok,” I said.  “Come to bed, Jamie.”

      “Wait a minute,” he responded, standing.  “I just want to take you in.”  He looked at me until I felt goosebumps pricking on my skin.  I could even tell my nipples were hardening; I wasn’t cold, but I was shivering.  I would have felt conspicuous and embarrassed, if Jamie didn’t have an equally visible response to me.

 

      “I love you, Claire,” he said.  “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.  Come here.”

     I came toward him, and he took me in his arms.  I felt virginal and fresh, my abdomen against his rugged muscles, his strong hands caressing my back, hips, and breasts.  When I felt like I was going to faint if I didn’t lie down, I finally was able to pull him to the bed. 

     Jamie reached for the nuknuk, and for an instant I was distracted and horrified.  But when he lay me down, his beautiful body stretched at length by me on the bed, I forgot everything but him.

      “What do you want?” he said huskily, as he lay on his side next to me, propping himself up on an elbow.  Instead of answering, I took his hand and led him to the warmth between my legs. 

      “You can’t see my response to you as well as I can yours,” I whispered.  “This says I want you and I’m _ready_.” 

      “May I…touch you for a while?” he asked; his forehead wrinkling as he explored me, a smile playing about his lips as he continued to stroke me, watching my face for my reaction.

     I truly had not expected to climax our first time; I hadn’t thought it a reasonable expectation, but Jamie beamed with pride when I squirmed and gasped in response to him, and he kissed my shoulder when he knew I’d come.

      “I did _not_ expect that,” I gasped.  “You’re a virgin.  How do you know anything?”

      “I _may_ have found a book in Majuro to read the last couple of days,” Jamie said, grinning.  “I didn’t want to be a selfish, clueless virgin when I got married—just a virgin.”

     I got up on my knees, kissing his chest and neck.  Though he seemed to enjoy the feel of my breasts in his hands, he finally said, “I dinna need any more turning on, Claire.  Are you ready for me?” 

      “Of course,” I said, lying down and opening myself to him, watching his face as he entered me, his eyes widening in wonder.

     He was right; he did not need any more turning on.  Nor did he need much time.  It might have been a minute, tops, and he was gasping over me, and then he fell, spent, next to me on the bed.

     I felt flushed and feverish with quenched desire, and hugely embarrassed that a crowd of people outside had just heard me pant, cry out, and moan and were about to have a cloth thrown out to them, containing the evidence of our recent intimacy along with the evidence of my non-virginity.  It seemed obscene.

     I turned to Jamie who was lying next to me, wide-eyed and stunned.  He was adorable, and suddenly I forgot everything else.

      “Well?”  I asked him, moving to kiss his chin.  “How was your first time?”

      “Stop,” he said.  “Lay back.  Put up your legs.”

     I was confused.  So soon?  The explanation came very quickly.

      “Virgin blood, Ripālle,” he said, kissing me with a smile.  He reached over to the table and grabbed his fishing knife.  The nurse in me thought _, I hoped he cleaned it._   Bending his knee to bring his thigh closer, he quickly sliced across his inner thigh, and a line of burgundy blood sprung from the wound.  My eyes teared up when I realized what he was doing.  I reached my hand behind his neck and pulled him to me for a kiss.

     He waited for the blood, then swiped it with his middle finger.  Looking at my face, he kissed my lips, then reached down and touched me.

     I didn’t expect to enjoy it, and Jamie hadn’t planned to linger, but his hand on me so soon after climax had an unexpected effect.  I buried my face in his shoulder so they wouldn’t hear me outside.

      “Again?” he said, a proud smirk on his face when I kissed his shoulder.  “I’m a better lover than I thought!”

      “Or, it has just been too long since I had sex,” I said.   At Jamie’s crestfallen expression, I smiled.  “Oh, you were amazing, Jamie—but I am looking forward to having sex when there’s not an entire village waiting outside to look at the evidence of what we just did together.”

      “Okay,” said Jamie.  “Time to sit up.”  He held out his hand to me.

      Wrinkling my nose as I took his hand and gingerly sat on the wedding cloth, I said, “May I just say, this is a _strange_ , strange custom.”

     When I got up, I grimaced at the blood-splotched fabric critically, but when I looked at Jamie, he was gazing at me.

      “Claire,” he said.  “You are so beautiful.  I could just stare at you all day.”

 

      “Do we go back out?” I asked.  “It’s weird, but I want to see my parents more before they leave tomorrow.”

      “Aye,” Jamie said.  “Let’s get dressed.”  We cleaned ourselves up, Jamie pulling on his khaki slacks and shirt, as I grabbed a bra and panties and put on a short-sleeved maxi dress—I figured I’d feel less embarrassed if I were thoroughly covered.  I peeked in our mirror, but other than a few more curling tendrils falling down around my face, I still looked fine.  Jamie looked jubilant and proud, and I, myself, also felt blissfully high.

     He grabbed my hand, picked up the virginity cloth, and we headed to the door.  Before he opened it, he kissed me firmly.  “My wife,” he said.

      “My husband,” I responded.

     We opened the door to shouts and cheers, especially when he handed the cloth to Dougal and Moneo, who held it up to show the splotch of blood.  Dougal had married Moneo in a typical Marshallese wedding as well, so he seemed nonplussed by the experience.  Then Jamie and I headed out to food, and merriment, and Marshallese dancing, as our community celebrated our new marriage with us.

     A group of little girls wearing green leafy skirts did the native Marshallese style of dance.  I was amazed by the way they could move their booties and hips! The dance was like a cross between the hula and belly dancing—they would do this little stepping movement where they rocked their hips from side to side, sometimes focusing on just one hip, squatting lower and lower to the ground as they did so. 

     "Itok, Miss Peachay!"  Two little girls came up and pulled at my hands.  It was Riti and her little friend Kabet.  "Come dance with us," they said, leading me to join the girls and trying to teach me how to do it step by step.  I felt like I had two left feet, but I got pretty good at shaking my booty.  Eventually, I caught the eye of Rupert and Angus, who were both looking at me in a disturbingly lustful manner, and dragged them up with me, to the great delight of the locals.  I looked up and saw Jamie watching me with what seemed like a mix of amusement and desire as he ate and visited. 

 

_This video was actually filmed in Majuro!  If you watch the video linked below,_

_You can see the lagoon, the islands on the other side of the atoll, and hear the waves!_

[Click Here to See the Whole Marshallese Dance ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wncXH3bt5A) [ And another adorable dance with young girls from Kiribati that's similar as well!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQnR_7J-k80)

     As the party wound down and Dougal, Moneo, and my parents prepared to head to the Iroij’s house, I saw my father pull Jamie aside again.  I shook my head, thinking, _Why in the world does my dad keep terrifying my new husband?_ But then I saw my father embrace Jamie tightly, and when both men turned back, I could swear they seemed misty-eyed.

      “Claire-bear,” my dad said as he hugged me goodnight, “I’ve said it before.  There’s something about this boy—Jamie has a pure heart, and he loves you.  I truly trust you with him.” He sounded choked up.  “What he did for you tonight was just more evidence of his character.”

      “Congratulations, kiddo,” my mom said, squeezing me as she eyed Jamie appreciatively.  “Enjoy your new husband.  He’s quite a specimen!  And I’ve always had a thing for redheads.”

      “Mom,” I groaned, “You’re married!”

      “I still have eyes,” she teased, swatting me on the backside.  “And now you’re married too!”

      “So, Jamie,” my mom said to him.  “We will see you at Christmas on Guam, won’t we?”

     “I guess so!” he said agreeably.  A brightness in his eyes reminded me that he’d lost both of his own parents.  I hoped mine would continue to welcome him as much as they already had.

     The crowd had dispersed, families heading home, babas carrying their sleepy children, mamas taking away leftover food platters, everyone fading slowly into the darkness, flashlights bobbing away from us down the coral gravel road.

     Rupert and Angus had excused themselves with some ribald comments in Gaelic that made Jamie’s face flush with embarrassment.

      Finally, we walked into our apartment, closed the door behind us, and looked at each other.

      “We’re married,” I said.  “That’s _crazy_.  It almost doesn’t feel real.”

      “I ken a way to help ye remember how real it is,” Jamie said sheepishly, “If ye wouldna mind doing it again, so soon.”

      “Of course,” I said, as Jamie started unbuttoning his shirt.  “Don’t worry about me, though, overachiever,” I added, laughing as Jamie blushed.  “I’m _beyond_ satisfied.  But I cannot wait to watch your face again.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We didn't actually go to a wedding on Arno. The virginity proof thing comes my research, from a website about Kwajalein, another atoll in the Marshall Islands. I'd cite the article here, but for the life of me I can't find it again! Nuknuk is just the Majel word for fabric, so I took some liberties here. 
> 
> I like it in Outlander when Claire & Jamie take the blood vow during their ceremony. This seemed like a nice homage to it (shedding of blood) while fitting into the island culture--and how sweet of Jamie--it was virgin blood! It also made me think of the original, where a proud Jamie struts downstairs and Rupert asks, "Did ye bleed?"


	22. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have to slow my writing pace slightly, so I'm going to post snippets and then fuse them into a whole chapter when I'm done. These two kids are adorable.
> 
> And should I chill with the gifs? :) The Wedding was just one of my favorite episodes.

     I’d been on Arno for only four weeks, but my body had acclimatized to the heat and humidity.  I often went to bed hot, but in the middle of the night, I could wake up shivering from the cold air blowing in the louvers from the lagoon, even if “cold” was probably still in the low 70s.

     It was only faintly light out when I noticed the chill of the morning breeze wasn’t affecting me as usual, because I was being snuggled by a warm, bare body.  Jamie’s breath was hot in my hair, his arm draped over my hips, his arm hairs tickling as they brushed against my skin.  His thighs contacted the backs of my legs, and I could feel his chest against my back.  It seemed as if he was still sleeping, considering his softly raspy breathing, which you could just barely count as a snore, though certain portions of his anatomy seemed more awake than others.

      As I rolled away from him onto my stomach, Jamie snorted and then eased onto his back.  I propped my chin up on my hand and looked at him.  Long eyelashes curled on his cheeks.  He had a straight nose, and a strong jawline with just a tiny bit of scruff.  _I hadn’t noticed,_   I thought.  _He shaved for me yesterday!_   Jamie generally ran around with 3-4 days’ growth, which was actually quite sexy to me, but this was sweet, too. 

      His Adam’s apple moved as he breathed.  There was a deep dip at the base of his neck, which I felt like kissing.  His chest was muscular, with a fine carpet of reddish-brown hair.  His abdomen was toned, too, though relaxed in sleep, he looked soft and stroke-able. 

      Youth definitely has its perks, I thought, as my eyes traveled lower.  Either Jamie had kicked off or I had stolen the blanket, and he was covered by just a thin white sheet, which currently was doing little to hide his substantial morning testosterone surge.

      Seeing Jamie there in his fresh innocence, I thought about the joy of initiating him to all the kinds of pleasure he could experience.  I could see why Jamie’s mom worshiped his dad, probably with her body as well as her heart.  There was inestimable value in being his first, to not have the spectre of other women, other bodies looming over our bed.

      I reached under the sheet and stroked down the length of Jamie’s thigh.  His eyebrows moved, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a faint smile.  Still asleep, I thought; but I knew how to wake him.

      It was effective; when he felt my mouth on him, his eyes flew open. “What are you doing?” he gasped.

      “Shh.  Stay still,” I said, though in the end it was fine that he didn’t really stay quiet _or_ still…

 

      Afterward, Jamie was grinning foolishly at me.  “I didna expect you to be doing that after we got married,” he said.

      “Why ever not?” I asked in bewilderment.

      Jamie looked sheepish.  “Rupert and Angus told a joke that when Catholic girls kneel when they marry, they’re giving thanks that it’s the last time they’ll ever be on their knees.” 

     “Well, I doubt that’s true,” I said, kissing him with a grin.  “And I’m not Catholic, anyway.” 

     I reluctantly pulled myself out of bed, feeling musky with the smell of sex and sweat, with an irresistable desire for a shower.

     To simplify my mornings, I had finally taken to leaving a full bucket of water in the shower and a full pot of water on the kerosene stove, ready to turn on and heat up the next morning as one of my going-to-bed rituals.  This way all I had to do was turn on the stove and I’d be 10-15 minutes from a warm shower.

     After lighting the stove,  I slipped a sundress over my head, emerging from the neck hole to see my husband eyeing me appreciatively.

     “You _just_ _came_ ,” I said.  “Why are you looking at me like you want to eat me?”

     “The fact that I couldna do anything with ye at the moment doesna make you any less gorgeous,” Jamie said, “If you recall, I haven’t been partaking of _any_ of this.  Not in the flesh, and not visually, either.”

     “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” I said in astonishment at my realization. “You’ve even been protected from internet porn…”

      “Kind of hard to access here when theres no electricity and no internet,” said Jamie.  He looked slightly embarrassed. “Though I canna say I’ve not seen _any_.  I was in Scotland until I was 18, and Majuro has both internet and electricity.”

     “But a couple years’ detox?” I said.  “Praise the Lord and Hallelujah!”

     “You’re becoming very spiritual, Ripālle,” Jamie said, as he climbed out of bed and walked over to the kitchen naked.  I took a turn around him, appreciating the sight of his toned muscles and gorgeous ass, which I grabbed, kissing him in between his shoulder blades and making him shiver, just because I could.

     “Are you cooking up some porridge...uh, oatmeal?” asked Jamie. “I’m starving, but probably dinna need _this_ much.”   He gestured toward the huge pot of water.

     “Oh, no,” I said.  “This is just for a warm shower.”

     Jamie turned to me with a eager smile.  “I can help you with that,” he said. “With the soap and washcloth and such.”

     From my attempts at shower sex or even just joint showering with Frank, I was well aware that it was much less sexy than it appeared on TV, especially because you spent half the time freezing cold.  But Jamie looked so excited, I couldn’t burst his bubble.

     With the water boiling, we grabbed a couple of towels, Jamie wrapped his sarong around himself, and with a surreptitious glance in each direction, we snuck out to the shower.

      Jamie took great attention and care, and apparently a lot of pleasure, in washing my hair and body quite thoroughly.  The slipperiness of the soap seemed to especially please him, and I finally had to tell him that my breasts and ass were probably clean enough, thank you very much, and I was getting chilly.

     He wasn’t done, though.  Nuzzling my neck after he’d rinsed me off, sipping droplets of water off my skin, he said, “You’re so clean and sweet-smelling.”  He wrapped a towel around my shoulders and his sarong around his waist, and then proceeded to kiss me thoroughly.  I didn’t understand what he was doing when he tossed the washcloth on the floor until he pressed me back against the shower wall, knelt in front of me, lifted one of my legs over his shoulder, and generously repaid my wake-up favor…twice over.

     “Such an education I’m getting,” he grinned, as he stood up, looking at me in wonder as I leaned against the wall with my eyes closed, recovering.  “Can I ask you something?”

     “Of course,” I said.

     “So, ye like it? Sex, I mean?” His face was innocent, hopeful.

     “Probably more than I should,” I said, which made him grin.

     “I _thought_ you might,” he said, “Though Rupert and Angus tried to tell me you were probably all talk and no action.”

     I laughed. “Dipwads. They’re just jealous.”

     “And I’m doing okay?  I was afraid I might not be very good at it,” Jamie said, looking very vulnerable. At times I could forget our age difference, but at other times his youth was evident.

     “Jamie,” I said.  “I have had _five_ orgasms in 13 hours.  If you were any better, I don’t think I could handle it...not that you can't still improve your skills,”  I continued, realizing what I was saying.  I kissed him. “Now, I’m freezing, and I think I should get dressed.”

     As I exited the shower, Dougal was standing out in front of the apartment. 

     “Is Jamie up yet?” He asked, gesturing toward the apartment, his eyebrows rising as the man in question sheepishly came out of the shower room after me.

     “Get dressed, Romeo, and let’s talk,” Dougal said, rolling his eyes.

 

      After dressing, I came back outside to hang up our towels. Maria called out to me through the trees, _"Iiokwe,_ Miss Peachay _.  Koṃro kōṃṃan nana aolep boñ_."

     “ _Ij jab meḷeḷe_ ,” I said. “What does that mean?"  Maria giggled, and headed back into her cook shack, leaving me to try to remember the way the words sounded so I could figure it out.

 

     I was worried what Dougal might be telling Jamie, but he came back in a fine mood.  "Dougal just wanted to give us something.  I'll show you some other time."

     "Jamie, I need you to translate something," I said.  I repeated what Maria had said to the best of my ability.  Jamie's smile grew wider and his face redder as I talked.  "So," I said.  "Is 'comb-row' _you_?  And 'comb-mon" is _make_?  And 'nah nah' is _bad_.  What's 'all leb'?

     "All," said Jamie, grinning.

     "And 'bong'?"

     "Night," he said, nearly giggling.

     "What was she saying?" I asked, though I had a pretty good idea.

     "Ever heard of sex being called 'doing the nasty?'" Jamie asked.  "Well, one of the euphemisms in the Marshalls is ' _kōṃṃan nana_ ,'" he laughed.

     "Maria said we were having sex all night?" I exclaimed, horrified.  "We weren't that loud, were we?"

     "Some of us were," Jamie said innocently.    

     I rolled my eyes.  "So, Mr. Fraser, where are you taking me for our honeymoon?  Or are we just going to stay here in this apartment _kōṃṃan_ -ing _nana aolep_ day and _aolep_ night?

     "We are going to Aut-le,” Jamie said.  “It’s an uninhabited island just around the corner from Matolen, off the far east end of this island.  We're going to camp there.  I've got food and water all packed up, and we can find coconuts, go spearfishing, and relax.”

     I peered at him skeptically.  I’d grown up camping, which meant I knew exactly how far away roughing it was from my vision of the perfect honeymoon.  Room service, a clean hotel room, hot shower…

     Jamie was smiling. “Ripālle, it’s the only way we will be truly alone out here.” He put his arms around me.  “And I need to have you _all_ alone,” he whispered huskily in my ear.  "Where it doesn't matter how loud you get when I ' _kōṃṃan nana_ ' with you."

     My stomach leapt, and instantly I could see the wisdom in Jamie’s choice.

     "Okay," I said.  "What should I pack?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "true" parts of this chapter? Acclimatizing so that 72 felt so cold I had to wear a sweatshirt, and trying to pre-plan for showers so it didn't take so long in the mornings. 
> 
> Such a bummer that none of this other stuff happened out there! ;)


	23. Autle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heading to a deserted island for their honeymoon!

     My parents showed up hesitantly around ten, but Jamie and I were fully clothed and bringing out our duffle bags, snorkeling gear, and the few food items I thought of adding to the list of food Jamie said he’d sent on ahead.  The town’s truck, which I had since learned was one of three motorized vehicles on the island, was going to drive us down to the end of the island, where the Rosa family owned a boat that they were renting to us for the weekend.

     Once again, my dad and Jamie headed off together, this time to go summon the truck.  My mom requested a tour of the clinic, so I showed her my primitive medical set-up.

      “Dougal is leaving this afternoon,” my mom said, after she’d tried out my pump “faucet.”  “But your dad and I were wondering if we could stick around until Monday.”

      “Where would you stay?” I asked. “Still at the Iroij’s palace?”

      “That’s the thing,” Mom answered.  “We would like to stay here, if you don’t mind.”  She indicated the wall toward our apartment.  “Enjoy the quiet, clean and fix things up a little,” she shrugged her shoulders.  “You know how we like to make ourselves useful.”

     Mom wasn’t kidding.  Every time she visited us in Boston, the next time I was in my kitchen my refrigerator would have been cleaned out and my stove top and oven scrubbed.

     "We only have the one pair of sheets,” I said to her, wrinkling my nose in distaste. 

      “I could wash them,” she said.  “But I could also just air them out today.  I mean, honestly—last night I saw something a mother-in-law should never have to see, which I’m guessing was a lot fresher than anything still there.  And we don’t have a black light or anything.”

      “Yuck, Mom,” I groaned, covering my face.  “I’m sorry.  I should have warned you or sent you away.”

      “Oh, I knew what was happening,” she said.  “Besides what I could  _hear_ ,” (I buried my face deeper in my hands) “which was an indication that you have married quite an enthusiastic lover, Moneo told me all about the custom, with plenty of time to head somewhere else for a while.”

      “Why did you  _stay_ , then?” I whimpered, disturbed by the entire conversation.

      “I thought it would be an interesting cultural experience,” she said, surprisingly earnestly, “And such an amazing conversation starter when anyone tries to start one-upping their kids’ wedding stories at my book club.”

      “You will  _not!_ ” I exclaimed, coming out of hiding to see her facial expression, obviously pleased with herself for being so hilarious.

      “Claire, I would never,” she said, shaking her head and smiling.  “Though if Stacy Harrow starts telling me about her daughter’s shocking ceremony, I will probably have to work extra hard to resist the temptation to share yours.”

     I shook my head in stunned silence, as I ushered my mom out of the clinic.

      “Besides,” my mom said, “Jamie already set it up with your dad.  He’s got something he wanted us to do while you are gone.”

      “What’s the deal with Jamie and Daddy?” I asked.  We could see the pick-up truck appearing from a distance off.  “I’m starting to feel like Dad prefers him to me.”

      “It was just so sudden, Claire,” My mom ran her fingers through her hair, pulling the curls away from her face.  “I just think Daddy couldn’t let this happen without feeling like he knows Jamie a little.  I know you’re a grown-up.  But you’re still his little girl.”

      “How do  _you_  really feel, Mom?” I asked.  “Was this the stupidest thing I’ve ever done?”

      “Oh, certainly not,” she said, hugging me around the waist.  “You’ve done plenty of stupider things.”

      “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked. 

      “Actually, Claire,” she said, “Impulsive, yes.  Sudden, definitely.  But stupid, sweetie? Love is never stupid.”

 

     I was torn when the time came to leave.  I hadn’t seen my parents in six months or more, so it was a challenge to say goodbye.  But as we were packing up the truck, there were several times Jamie had touched me, just brushing his hand across my back, or stepping close behind me when I was loading something in the truck so I could clearly feel that he was aroused.  Once he leaned over and breathed on my neck beneath my ear, and I about jumped out of my skin.  The way he kept looking at me, I felt naked already; and I was beginning to feel quite ready to be naked again.

     Fulfilling that desire was delayed by my parents deciding to ride on the truck to see us off; otherwise I had a very strong feeling there would have been some major below-the-waist touching in the back of the truck as we rode to the end of the island.

     I had a sense of anticipation as we left Matolen behind and headed across the lagoon.  In thirty minutes, we were pulling the boat up to the beach at Autle, and Jamie handed boxes and bags out to me to put on the grassy bank above the beach.  Despite taking motion sickness pills before the journey, he was looking queasy; however, he muscled through and helped to carry our luggage to the little sandy clearing where we would be staying.

      “The tent is already set up,” I said gratefully, “and it’s like a little house.”

      “Ye can thank Rupert and Angus for that,” Jamie said.  “I couldn’t make this trip twice in a day and still be of any use to my wife.”

      “Did they make the bed, too?” I asked, skeptically peeking in a window of the boxy, tall, room-sized tent.

      “Yes,” said Jamie, “But we can certainly inspect it before we use it.  Unfortunately, lass, I dinna feel very good right now, and I think I should lie down for a time before I do anything else.”

      “Are you still a little seasick?” I asked. He didn’t look like he was feeling well at all.

      “Aye,” he groaned, kicking off his flip-flops and unzipping the tent flap.

      “Well, I guess I can get us moved in and set up our camp,” I said, looking around the campsite, feeling a little disappointed and needing to keep myself busy.

      “Nah,” he said, shaking his head and opening the door of the tent.  “Itok, Ripālle.  You’re going to take off your clothes and lie next to me.  I want to touch yer body wi’ my eyes closed.”

     We went into the tent and Jamie reclined on the air mattress, which despite having been set up by Rupert and Angus, didn’t seem to be booby-trapped or poisoned.

      “Will ye undress for me?  I’d like to watch you.”  Jamie spoke from the bed, one eye open just a slit.  Somehow having his eyes closed seemed to help his nausea, but there were certain things that warranted opening them.

     I felt a little shy in the full light of day—the tent did nothing to darken the room.  I had actually chosen my outfit for the day considering which clothes would look the best coming off, so I’d chosen a short sleeved floral dress with buttons down the front.  I decided I’d take my time—just to drive Jamie mad—and it worked.  When I’d unbuttoned the buttons down past my hips, with my tiny panties and lack-of-bra showing clearly, Jamie groaned.

      “I’m not well, lass!  Dinna torture me!”  He looked at me, grinning, “But dinna take anything else off, either.  Just come here now.”

     I lay down next to him, still wearing the dress.  I watched his face as with closed eyes he reached over and slipped his hand inside the bodice of my dress, groaning as his fingertips traced their way around my breast and then closed to surround my nipple.

      “Mmmmm.  I  _like_  second base,” he whispered, cupping my breast in his substantial palm.  I leaned over to kiss him, and he slipped his hand behind my neck to draw me closer to him.  “I like  _first_  base, too, for that matter,” he said, yawning.

     His yawn was contagious.  It had been a long and somewhat sleepless night, so I lay my head on his chest, Jamie stroked my back, and we fell asleep. 

 

     When I woke up, Jamie wasn’t in bed with me.  He’d brought our suitcases inside, and I could hear footsteps moving around in the gravel outside and what sounded like a machete hacking away at something.  With a sense of jittery excitement I pulled something I’d bought in Majuro out of my suitcase, finished taking off my dress and panties, and put it on.

     Jamie had his back to me when I slipped out of the tent.  He was standing by the stump of a coconut tree, apparently opening a young coconut, evidenced by the pieces of green husk on the gravel at his feet.

      “Are you feeling better, Jamie?” I asked, disappointed when he didn’t turn around right away.

      “Aye,” he answered with one final hack, then turned around and nearly dropped the coconut he was holding.  His eyes told me I had chosen well.

      “I’m going native,” I said. “Look, I’m super decent!  My thighs are completely covered!”

     Jamie raised his eyebrows in amusement.

     In one of the shops, I had found short sarongs meant as cover-ups for swimsuits or bikinis.  I had purchased one, but right now I was wearing it alone, tied around my hips, topless. 

     Jamie watched me with great intensity as I walked over and took the coconut from him, lifting it to my mouth to sip the coconut water.

     I handed it back to him, and said, “Okay, what shall we do now?  Do we need to go spear fishing for our dinner?” 

      “No,” said Jamie, looking down at my body.  He stepped toward me.

      “Should we grate up a coconut for cooking our rice?”

      “ _Jab_ ,” he said.

      “What shall we do, then?” I asked, looking teasingly up at him.

      “I am going to find out if you’re wearing anything under that sarong,” Jamie said, bending to kiss me.  “And then I am going to make love to my wife.”

 

     Jamie was an enthusiastic lover, and so joyful and generous during every part of the process that it seemed wrong to find fault with his technique. I did need him to learn to enjoy going slow, which I managed by spending some time on top. 

     After our exhausting afternoon love-making session, we ate a snack of bananas, peanut butter and bread Jamie had baked for us before the wedding.  Then we put on our snorkeling gear and went out to hunt for our supper.  I wore a bikini for the first time since arriving, and Jamie again held my hand while snorkeling out to go spear fishing, though on occasion his hands had a mind of their own, straying elsewhere on my body.  At one point, he giddily untied my bikini top, stealing it and sticking it in his pocket.  While I felt a little manhandled, I also felt desired and sexy.

     When we’d caught eight fish, we headed back to camp.  I measured water and rice into the big cast iron pot, and Jamie scraped mature coconut onto a kerchief that I used as I had seen Maria use the cheesecloth.  There was something so delicious about the flavor of the coconut with the salty fish that I couldn’t imagine cooking the rice without it.

     Jamie gathered wood and built up the fire for roasting the fish, gutting them and prepping them while the wood burnt down to coals and the rice started simmering.

     The fish were delicious with bites of rice.  Jamie had brought along cans of soda from Mr. Ogawa’s store, which were refreshing despite being less than cold.  After eating, we put the lid on the rice to protect it from flies and set it in the shade where it could cool so we could eat it for breakfast.  

     The sun was shining, and it was a gorgeous day on the island.  I didn't realize it was just the calm before the storm.

 

 

 

Couldn't find any actual pictures of Autle, but this is Enedrik, another uninhabited island on the Arno Atoll, directly across the lagoon from Ine.

  
  


  
[quotes](http://overquotes.com/short-love-quotes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter "truisms"--We went to Autle during Spring Break, just for a day. It's actually much closer to Ine than this chapter indicates, but I wanted Jamie to get seasick. . . The pictures at the end of the chapter are of Enedrik (except for the hammock pic), which is an island in the Arno atoll that can actually be rented!


	24. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie are in for some stormy weather!

      After dinner, we set a pandanus mat by the fire, backed up to a large fallen log.  Jamie leaned against the log, and I sat next to him and leaned on his shoulder.

      “How long are we going to be able to stay here for?” I asked, pulling his arm up and around me, cuddling into his warm side.

      “Today’s Saturday, so I’ve arranged for us to be here until Monday.  We’ll head back in the afternoon.  That way I only miss one day of school.”

      “If we’re heading back Monday afternoon, I’m missing Depo Provera day at the clinic,” I said, with some concern.  “I hope there’s not a rash of unintended pregnancies just because the shots are a day late.”

     Jamie looked at me curiously.  “What are  _you_  using for birth control?” he asked, tossing another log onto the fire.

      “Oh, I’m not,” I said, with a sudden surge of embarrassment. Honestly, the thought hadn't even crossed my mind.  With Jamie being a virgin, I figured we didn't need to use condoms for STD protection, and I hadn’t used any other form of birth control for years.

     Jamie looked surprised, his forehead wrinkling.  “Dinna ye think that’s something we should decide together—when we’re planning to have children?” he asked slowly.  “I ken yer older than me, so ye might want to try right away, but I thought we’d perhaps have some time as just the two of us.”

      “Don’t worry about it, Jamie,” I said reassuringly. “I’m almost positive we won’t get pregnant without choosing to.” I clarified, “At least not without help.  I’m infertile.”

      “What do ye mean by that?” Jamie asked, staring at me as he randomly poked at a flaming piece of wood with a stick.

      “Frank and I didn’t use birth control once we were engaged, and in five years we never got pregnant.  They call it infertility if you don’t get pregnant after a  _year_  of unprotected sex.  So I’ll have to do some sort of medical testing or procedures, or else I probably won’t be able to get pregnant at all.”

     Jamie was clenching his jaw.  I wasn’t certain why, until he spoke.  “Now  _that’s_  also something that ye might have found important to tell me, Ripālle.  Did ye not think that I might want to ken that—whether we could have children or no?”

      “ _Really_?” I said sarcastically.  I sat up and scooted slightly away from him on the mat.  “I can’t believe that in our two-day engagement, we didn’t have the chance to discuss birth control, fertility, or children!”  I exclaimed irritably.  “I was too busy making sure my friend didn’t get moved to another island or sent back to Scotland.”

      “Aye, but Ripālle,  _children_ ,” said Jamie, eying me seriously.  “That’s a huge part of the reason for marriage.”

      “What exactly do you mean by that?” I asked. Jamie wasn’t yet familiar with my “calm before the storm” tell, so he probably thought my question was a  _question_  rather than a  _warning_.

      “Just that marriage sets up a supportive, committed environment for raising children.”  Jamie reached gently for my hand, but I pretended not to notice him.

      “Is that the  _only_  reason people should get married?” I asked, deadly calm.

      “No, but it’s probably the most important one,” Jamie answered innocently.

     Somehow, that was the last straw. I drilled holes into Jamie with my eyes. “Oh, is that what you think, asshole?  Frank thought that too, I guess, because I never got pregnant, so he never married me.  I thought maybe you were better than that.  I guess I was wrong.  _Selfish bastard_ ,” I muttered.

      “Selfish? And bastard?” he said, rubbing his forehead with a confused expression on his face.  “How can ye say that to me, Ripālle?  Ye know I’ve been beyond kind and generous wi’ ye. I just happen to think that whether or not my wife is on birth control might be my business, too.”

       _What was this kid's problem?  What the heck was I thinking getting married so fast?_   All of a sudden, I felt ridiculously foolish.  I stood up and walked to the other side of the fire. Jamie sat there, shirtless and barefoot, wearing swim trunks, his red hair in thick ringlets, messy from swimming in salt water.  Yes, he was a damn fine specimen of manhood, but he was my little brother's age.  I was a grown-ass woman, and this child was trying to tell me what I should and should not be doing with my own body.

       I started pacing back and forth.  “What the hell was I thinking?  Frank, the  _man_  I was with and loved for seven years, breaks up with me because I was foolish enough to travel halfway around the world without him, and I marry an infant?  Why would I even _want_ to have a baby with you, Jamie?  You're still practically a child!"

      "Says the woman who's being irresponsible about birth control," Jamie said condescendingly.  "And yer a nurse, too, Claire!  It seems to me that whether or not you and Frank weren't able to have children, the fault might be his, not yers.  And just because yer ex wasna man enough to get ye pregnant doesna mean I willna be able to.” 

      He was smiling.   _Smiling_ as he questioned my knowledge of myself and my profession.  _Smiling_ as he insulted Frank.

     “You think you’re more of a man than Frank?  Do you think marriage makes you a man?  Did sticking your dick in me make you a man?  Is that what you think?  All it takes to be a man is having a warm place to plunge his cock, and once he’s done that, a warm place to incubate his  _spawn?_   You're such a fucking misogynist _.”_

     “You are such a foul-mouthed wench!”  Jamie’s face was flushing, his volume increasing.  “Stop talking to me like that!  I haven’t forced anything on you.  Yer the one who _suggested_ marriage.  And I risked my reputation to let you stay with me that night when that bastard Frank broke up with you…and then I was willing to marry ye to save you from being sent home!”

      “ _Let_  me stay with you?” I exclaimed, glaring at him.  “ _Willing_  to marry me?  You  _know_  you wanted me. You’ve been trying to seduce me since you first met me.  Late nights, putting your arms around me—taking off your shirt when I’m around.  You would use  _any_  excuse to get in my pants.  And lucky you, it worked!" 

      “Oh, dinna be such an icy _bitch_ ,” said Jamie, looking at me derisively. "I wouldna have had to try very hard if I'd wanted to seduce ye.  I could see you eyeing me whenever you were around me.  Yer the horny little slut—the one who came to me in the middle of the night in some scanty getup, asking to sleep in my bed wi’ me all night, rubbing yer round arse against me. Yer the one who touched ME first, putting yer hand on my cock, going down on me…putting yer mouth on me…in the school!”

      “I am not a _slut_ ,” I seethed.  “I did it once we were engaged.  I did it because I thought you loved me.  To make you feel good.  To make you happy.  Well, I hope you’re happy, you little shit.”

     I thrust my feet into my flip-flops, grabbed my book from the tent, and stomped off (as loudly as one can stomp in rubber soled flip-flops on shifting coral rock).  It didn’t look that fierce to be stomping off in a bikini, either, I assumed.  However, I headed toward the hammocks on the ocean side, leaving Jamie looking flabbergasted.

     I felt furious and embarrassed at the same time, but I climbed into the hammock, and tried to read through my angry tears.  Unfortunately, I was so upset, I found reading impossible.  I closed my eyes and relived the argument in my mind, trying to remember how it had started and why it had gotten so bad so fast.   I didn’t like the way this felt, but it also made me furious that the only thing I wanted right now was for Jamie to hold me.  I wasn’t going to go to him, though. 

 

     The thing was, Jamie was right.  I didn’t _know_ if I was the infertile one.  Frank and I had never been tested.  I _should_ have made arrangements for some sort of birth control, or at least brought along the box of condoms for us to use until I could give myself a Depo shot.  And he hadn’t tried to seduce me.  He’d wanted me, but he’d never touched me inappropriately.  He’d only been an emotional support and a friend. But his words were so cruel.  How could he talk to me like that?

     I began to feel it, first, a marked chill in the air.  My bikini felt completely insufficient.  The breeze began to pick up, blowing the palm fronds toward the south.  Around me a few large fronds actually fell to the ground, as well as a coconut or two.  I started to wonder if it was safe where I was.  I slipped out of the hammock and walked further out onto the beach.  As I gazed to the north, I could see a wall of dark clouds moving in our direction.  Rain.  Moving fast enough that I could see its approach.

      Storms in the Marshall Islands were impressive and generally brief.  Clouds would approach, drop their payload, and move on.  They often came from the north and moved south, which meant that from Ine, we could see their approach across the iar.  But Autle was an East-West facing island, and it had been difficult to see approaching weather.

     As angry as I was, I didn’t want to be stuck outside in a downpour, so I grabbed my book and headed back to our camp.

     Jamie was rushing around, staking down the corners of the tent as well as a tarp over our little food supply area.  He started tying the strings of the rain fly out to the bases of four coconut palms, and I went inside the tent and zipped up all the windows, throwing on a dress over my bikini.  Then I went outside and pulled our towels off the laundry line, taking another look around the campsite before heading into the confines of our tent.

     We made it inside just in time.  The rain was just beginning to reach us, rapidly tapping on the rain fly.  The wind whipped the sides of the tent around, but so far we were safe and dry. There was really no place to sit, just the air mattress in the middle of the tent.  Jamie was looking at me, but I didn’t meet his gaze.  I lay on my side on the mattress, facing away from him.  When Jamie joined me on the bed, his solid bulk weighed down the bed so that I rolled toward him.  I hooked my leg over my side of the bed to keep myself from touching him, and scooched forward until I was nearly hanging off the edge. 

     After a while, under the guise of changing positions to be more comfortable, I rolled over, but used my book to block my vision of his face.  Jamie didn’t have a book with him.  He was just staring at the tent ceiling.  He sighed audibly a couple of times.

      “Claire,” he said finally.  “I’m so sorry.  My da would never have called my ma any of those words, no matter how angry he was.  It was wrong of me.  Will you forgive me?”

     I took the book from between us and looked at his face.  His nose was red.  His eyelashes were wet.  Jamie was _crying_.  It broke my heart.  I really hadn’t felt so strongly about anyone in a long time, such a deep desire to be with someone, not even Frank.

     “Yes,” I said.  “You weren’t wrong.  I _should_ probably be using birth control.”

     “Stop,” said Jamie.  “I was an asshole, and I’m trying to apologize.”

     “But, Jamie,” I said, tears filling my own eyes.  “I’m sorry for being so horrible.  You aren’t any of the things I called you.  Can you forgive _me_?”

     Jamie pulled me to his chest.  “Goodness, Ripālle, I _already_ forgave you.”  I sobbed against his chest, tears dripping onto his chest hair.

     “I think you need a shirt on,” I quavered.  “There’s no place to wipe my eyes.”  Jamie pulled up the sheet from underneath us and wiped my cheeks.

     “Claire, talk to me,” he said, concern on his face.  “I mentioned birth control, and something snapped.  What is it?”

     “I didn’t always know what I wanted to be when I grew up,” I sniffled.  “But I always knew I wanted to be a mom.  I was great with kids; babysat all the time.  That’s why I stopped using birth control when I graduated.  I wanted kids, and it was fine with me if they came anytime.  As year after year went by, any time my period was late, I’d get excited.  But it was never anything.”

      “Hmm,” Jamie grunted.  “So for me to bring up birth control, it wasn’t just me asking about birth control.  It was me reminding you about infertility.” 

     I nodded. “That’s the first thing Frank brought up when I said I wanted to come out here, you know,” I said.  “He reminded me that I wasn’t going to get any more fertile with time.  Like, if I wanted to be a mom, I shouldn’t even be going out here.”

     “And you also said,” Jamie added, “That ye felt like Frank would have married ye if you got pregnant?”

     “It’s silly,” I said, “But I’m positive he would have.  It felt like somehow it was my fault that he never married me.”

      Jamie kissed me on the forehead.  “Well, I married ye, Claire, and I am glad you are my wife, whether or no we ever have children.”  I rolled over, and snuggled in the curve of his body, as he stroked my hair.  The wind was howling outside, and rain was pelting the tent with ferocity, but I felt safe.

      “And there are good things,” Jamie offered.  “If you never have babies, I’ll never have to share your breasts,” he said, cupping and stroking the part in question with his hand.  “I feel rather selfish about them, already.  Can’t imagine watching a bairn suckle you and not wanting to do it myself.”

      “Gross,” I grumbled, and Jamie chuckled.

      “Ripālle,” he said.  “Will ye look at me, please?”  I rolled over and met his eyes.  “I love you, Claire.  I _wanted_ to marry ye.  And I _was_ shamelessly trying, not to seduce ye, exactly, but to get as close as I could to ye ever since ye came to Arno.”

      “Well, I’ve not exactly been a nun, either,” I said.  Jamie grinned at my Catholic reference.

     “But I dinna want us to ever call each other names, Ripālle.  Anger is fine.  But evil names and bad words—that’s hatred.”

      “I agree,” I said.  “I’m sorry.  You’re right—we should only call each other names that are affectionate.  So, c’mere, baby boy,” I said, reaching my hand out to stroke Jamie’s cheek.

      “I dinna much  _like_   _that_ name,” he said, making a face. 

      “It doesn’t mean anything bad,” I said, turning over to face him.  “It’s  _ironic_  because you’re big and you make me feel safe.  Why does it offend you?” I asked teasingly.  “Because you’re younger than me?”  Jamie’s expression told me that was a big part of it.  “Because if I tell you to do something, you’ll obey me?”  He grinned.  “Because you’d curl up inside me if you could, or because you like to suckle at my breasts?”

     He frowned, with a little twinkle in his eye.  “All of those might be true.  Still dinna like it,” he said.

      “Seems to me you’ve got a double standard,” I responded, tracing his jawline with my finger, “Your name for me means selfish white person.  I hated it at first; now nothing gets me hotter than you saying, ‘Itok, Ripālle,’ in that husky voice of yours.”

     Jamie’s eyes twinkled.  “Does it, now?”  He looked at me through hooded eyes, his lips twisting teasingly.  Realizing what I’d just revealed, I rolled away from him.  Jamie pushed himself up off the bed, stood up, and reached his hand out to me.  “Itok, Ripālle.” I rolled my eyes, sighed, and put my hand in his.

      “C’mon, Mommy,” he said, gazing at me intently.  “Let’s get your clothes off.”

      “Now  _that’s_  nasty,” I groaned laughingly. 

      “Is it?” he asked innocently.  “I dinna ken.  But I do know you got me turned on with all that talk about  _suckling_ and being  _inside_  you.  I think I know what we’re going to be doing soon.”

      “Dammit, Jamie,” I said, a warm flush spreading through my abdomen.  “I was going to still be  _mad_  at you.  You’re not supposed to be able to turn me on like that!”

  
  
  
And though I didn’t take it, this picture is actually a storm on Arno—  
so incredibly powerful and threatening!  
[](https://postimg.org/image/abv2bw5bn/)


	25. The Drop Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's getting deep...

**_The Drop Off_ **

     By nightfall the storm had tapered off somewhat, but in early hours of the morning it picked up again, thrashing and whipping the tent fabric, breaking off branches and causing the surf to roar. Jamie and I had curled up in bed naked after making love, and when the storm woke us, he gently began stroking my shoulders. 

      “Your touch wakes me up,” I murmured, rolling back toward him slightly. 

      “I’m sorry,” he said, with a kiss on my shoulder.  “I just couldn’t sleep.”

      “No,” I said, rolling back further, and sliding the covers down to expose my breasts.  “I _meant_ , your touch wakes me **_up_**.”

      “You mean it rouses you?”  I could hear the obvious pleasure in his voice, as his hand slowly began to caress me.  “I knew I’d like sex,” he said. “That was _never_ a question.  What I didna ken was how powerful I’d feel knowing I could give you pleasure.”

     I lifted my lips to him, unintentionally letting out a little murmured whine as he took me with his own, offering his soft tongue. I could feel his mouth pull back in a smile. 

      “ _That_ ,” he said.  “Oh God, Claire, that little noise you make when you like what I’m doing.  Feel what it does to me.”  He took my hand down under the covers; he was so firm, so big, I wanted him inside me right then.  I tried to push up, but Jamie stopped me with his hand on my shoulder. 

      “I want to taste you,” he said, his lips moving down my throat to my breasts, then my abdomen.

      “Jamie, I haven’t showered in days,” I said, squirming under him as if to get away.  He moved to my legs, wrapping his strong arms under them and opening my thighs.

      “Open to me, Claire,” he said.  “Trust me with your body; ye dinna disgust me.  Anyway, you were in the ocean just yesterday,” he said, kissing closer and closer. I gasped, and he lifted his head. “More of _that_ noise, please,” he said.  He lowered his lips to me and my body contracted as I felt the warmth of his tongue. This time it was a squeaky squeal I inadvertently released. He laughed. “You taste like the sea, Ripālle.  But you sound like a kitten.”  I giggled, gasping as he returned to his efforts.

     Finally I ran my fingers through his sleep-tousled curls and lifted his head.  “I want to go _with_ you,” I said.  “You’re generous, Jamie.  But I want to be face to face.  I need to be closer to you.  I need you to fill me.”

     He drew me off the air mattress.  Sitting on our blanket on the tent floor, I faced him, sitting astride his lap.  It was, I thought curiously, like the way I used to swing with my friends in grade school.  The pale light of morning was approaching as we kissed and caressed each other.  I could see his blue eyes, intent on me as we moved together, and I gazed at him, open-eyed and fearless.

     We lay in each other’s arms on the bed after that, not cradled or spooned, but face to face, our legs intertwined, our arms around each other as if we were trying to melt together.  The last thing I remembered was Jamie looking at me, his eyes exploring my face as if to discover all my secrets.  I didn’t understand why, but I started crying; and he kissed away my tears until I fell asleep.

 

     A couple of times in the past few days while making love with Jamie, I had flashes of thoughts of Frank.  I hadn’t been promiscuous in college. Frank and I had dated briefly the fall of my freshman year.  He was interested in me, but he was older.  After giving my virginity to him, I had dated a few other guys, being involved to differing extents based on how much I trusted or liked them.  I might have had four sex partners other than Frank; well, maybe six. We got together for real in the spring, dated exclusively my sophomore year, and moved in together once I turned 21.

     Sex had always been enjoyable with Frank.  I loved being touched, loved the way I felt shivers at his fingers on my skin, the way my body warmed up from the inside out.  I loved feeling breathless and achy with need.  Some of my sex partners had acted like I was supposed to be some sort of porno actress, serving their needs and not even considering mine.  When they were like that, they got an instant boot out the door. 

     On the contrary, Frank was gentle and generous when we made love; but he was never as hungry as I was.  He could easily go for days without, even a week or more on occasion.  I rarely felt pursued; it seemed like I was the one to initiate much of the time.  I knew he was older than me, that his family wasn’t as touchy or affectionate.  Sometimes I had to seek him out for a kiss at night if he was up late studying.  We could go for days without touching at all. 

     _I hadn’t realized I was starving._

     Being with Jamie was the first time I had ever felt physically satiated.  Not sexually—it wasn’t that.  It was that I was finally being touched enough.  A hand on my back or arm.  Him pulling me into his side for a quick hug.  A brief kiss on the lips, neck, or forehead.  Being cuddled in bed, held when I cried.

     And when we were together sexually, Jamie was present, enthusiastic, focused on me.  If it was light, his eyes were often on me, studying my face, smiling at my reactions. Jamie was a student of my body, in constant learning mode.  Maybe that was his youth or virginity, but I had a feeling it was just Jamie.

     It felt bad to compare, but in some ways I needed to—to justify this sudden choice to myself.   I thought of trying to explain to my friends back home, how to explain it to Joe.  I had a horrified thought about having to explain myself to Frank, and found myself incredibly grateful that Boston was so far away and that I wouldn’t need to see him for months, if not years. 

     So whether it was right or not, I kept remembering how Frank would be distracted during lovemaking, like I was one more chore he had to do.  How I could try to message with my body and voice that something was working for me or not, and he either wouldn’t pick up on it, or would get offended and turned off because he felt judged.  How I could need him, reach out to him, and for whatever reason—stress or busyness—he would not seem to need me.

 

     We woke up when the sun was streaming through the trees, making the tent almost too hot. 

      “What shall we do today?”  I asked.  Jamie responded by sliding his hand underneath the covers and cupping my butt, pressing me towards his enormous morning erection.

      “Oh, Jamie,” I said.  “I’m too sore.  I feel like I’ve been riding a horse for three days.”

      “Ye flatter me,” he giggled into my neck. 

      “I’m _raw_ ,” I said.  “It’s going to sting to go swimming today.”

      “We’ve got lube,” he said helpfully.

      “Seriously.  Hard no.  Never thought I’d ever say no to sex with someone as hot as you, but _no_.”

      “Not even if I say, ‘ _Itok, Ripālle_?’” He looked quite hopeful.

      “Not even then.”

      “What do I do with this, then?” he asked, looking down sorrowfully and shaking his head. 

      “What you did every morning of your non-married life,” I suggested helpfully.  “Whatever that might be.”

     He blushed profusely.  “Well, I have two options,” he offered.

      “Which are?”  I asked, teasingly.

      “I dinna much feel like I should be doing the first one on my honeymoon,” he said.  “So I guess, think about dead things, it is!”  He gave me a swift kiss on the lips, smacked me on the backside, and got out of bed.

     He stood there for a moment, as if to guilt me.

      “Jamie, you’re gorgeous, I love having sex with you.  But remember how fun it was to try not to have sex before we were married?  Let’s do just a little of that today.  Maybe say, we can’t have sex until 2 o’clock.”

      “Oooo, I like that,” he said.  “I’m going to drive you crazy, until you’re begging me for it.”

      “I’ll be kinder,” I said, crawling out of bed and stretching.  “I won’t try to drive you crazy.”   After my closed-eye yawn, I looked over at him. 

      “Two o’clock?” he asked, eating me with his eyes.

      “Two o’clock,” I answered.

      “Do have a long, shapeless dress?” he asked.  “Maybe an ugly hat, some gigantic sunglasses?”  I laughed, and pulled on a bathing suit and coverup.

     When we left the tent, it was surprising to see the damage inflicted by the wind.  There were downed coconuts and palm branches all over the place.  Jamie’s preparations had protected most of our things. 

      “Would you like me to take you to the drop off?” Jamie asked, as we ate cold coconut rice and bananas for breakfast.

      “The drop-off, like on Finding Nemo?” I asked.  “Am I going to get eaten by a barracuda?”

      “Yeah, that part was too scary for my little brother when it first came out,” Jamie said.  “My ma had to fast forward it.”

      “How old were you?”

      “Um, if Willie was like 5, that would make me 8?”

      “Baby,” I said, shaking my head. 

      “How old were you?”

      “Have we not done the math yet?” I asked him.  “I’m five years old than you.”

      “Twenty-seven?” he asked.  “Hmm.”  He grunted.

      “You’re disgusted.  You’re married to an old lady,” I said, joking, but not feeling it inside.  I’m not sure why it made me nervous to put it out there.  It sounded so old in comparison to twenty-two. “You’re done being married to me.  You want an annulment.” 

      “I’m pretty sure we’ve consummated our marriage,” he grinned.

      “Yeah,” I said, wincing slightly.  “I think it’s too late.  You’re stuck with me.”

     Jamie wrapped me tightly in his arms.  “Dinna joke about it.  I chose ye, Claire.  No matter what horrible words I said yesterday, I’d marry ye again.  Ye dinna have to worry about my commitment to ye.”

     I sighed deeply, and Jamie stroked my back, pulled my hair away from my neck and kissed me.  I sighed again.  “Maybe I’ve changed my mind,” I murmured. 

      “I can just touch you, Claire,” Jamie said quietly.  “It doesna have to end in sex.”

     I couldn’t explain it, but I started crying.  Again!  “Oh, my word,” I said.  “You’re going to think I’m crazy!  I’m not sure why I keep crying!”

      “I dinna think yer crazy.  I just think some things were broken in yer relationship with Frank,” Jamie.  “And I may be wrong—it was yer life—but maybe ye felt like to get the touching ye needed, ye had to offer yerself.”

     I pushed away from Jamie in shock and looked up at him.

      “I’m sorry,” he said, eyes wide.  “I wasna trying to be rude.”

      “No!” I exclaimed.  “That’s it.  You’re right.  I could never get enough, and so I had to make it worth his while.”  Jamie looked down at me compassionately, his hand still tracing the lines of my back.

      “You may be young,” I said, “But you’ve got some wisdom.  That’s something I don’t think Frank ever understood.”

     Jamie pulled me to his chest again.  “Mo ghràidh,” he said.

      “Oh, that’s Gaelic,” I said. “What’s it mean?”

      “My darling,” he said. 

      “Okay, darling,’” I said, drawling the word like a Southerner.  “To the ocean side to see the drop off?”

 

     From Teacher Jamie’s diagrams, I was more aware of why there was a drop-off on the ocean side of an atoll.  As the volcano sunk under the water, coral would work its hardest to stay close to the light, since most corals are fed by algae, which requires sun to produce energy.  On the inside of the atoll, the drop wasn’t as drastic, so there are shallower sections, but the region around the atoll has a steep section where the coral reef is like a cliff.

     I knew about the drop off.  I understood it.  I even expected it.  That didn’t change the fact that when Jamie and I swam to the edge of the drop off and peeked over, my stomach dropped as if I was on a roller coaster ride, as if I was going to fall off a skyscraper.  I panicked, backed up (which is harder than you might think with fins on), and quickly stood up on some coral.

      “That’s terrifying!” I squealed, once Jamie had surfaced with me.

     He laughed, continuing to hold my hand, but then his expression changed.

      “Hey, Claire,” he said.  “We need to get all the way into the water if we’re here on the ocean side.”

      “Why is that?” I asked.

      “Trust me,” he said.  “Now.  Get your mask and snorkel back on.”

     I had no idea why, but he seemed serious, so I pushed my mask back on and was getting my snorkel in my mouth when I saw the black-tipped fin moving toward us.

     I had to work to avoid hyperventilating once I had my face in the water. 

     The shark was smaller than I’d expected, probably about four or five feet long.  It had been moving toward us, but as Jamie and I, fiercely clinging to hands, swam toward it, it swerved and swam away from us.  It was graceful and beautiful, with a sleek grayish brown body and black tips on its dorsal fins as well as its tail and belly fins. 

     I had heard that when sharks were in places where there was abundant food, they weren’t usually a threat to humans, but despite my knowledge, I couldn’t get over my anxiety.  Jamie could sense it, maybe in the way I was shaking uncontrollably, so he swam with me to the shore, where I stumbled out of the water as quickly as I could.

     When we were safely sitting on the sand, Jamie put his arm around me.  “They’re skittish, unless they think you’re food.  Here in the Marshalls, they know that the best way to avoid a blacktip reef shark bite is to swim instead of wading.  The bigger you look, the less likely they are to think of you as food.”

      “So when you told me to get in the water, you were preventing a shark attack?”  I asked.

      “Aye,” he said. “Aet.”

      “That’s hilarious!”  I said, with a tiny gasp.  “The Gaelic and Majel for yes are almost the same word!”

      “Strange things strike ye as funny, Ripālle,” he said. 

      “Well, that was terrifying,” I said.  “Can we swim in the iar instead?” 

      “Sure,” Jamie replied, “But we’re not going in the water at all until you stop shaking.”

     He led me back to camp where we grabbed our fishing spears and he stuck his fish stringer on his belt loop, then we headed across to the lagoon side.  It was obvious the waves had been bigger than normal, as all sorts of flotsam had washed up on the beach—floats, plastic bottles, sprouted coconuts, palm fronds.  I was looking at some of the shells there when Jamie swore.

      “This is a muckle great pile of shite,” Jamie said.  “The boat’s gone.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scariest thing ever, snorkeling on the ocean side on Arno. I did it exactly once. Between the gut-dropping sensation of going over the drop off, to seeing the blacktip fin shark, I was about done with that after one time. :) There are also Tiger sharks around Arno on the ocean side, which are much more dangerous to humans. We were able to see beautiful fish and coral on the lagoon side, and that was good enough for me.
> 
> I didn't have the shark-is-swimming-toward-you-get-in-right-now experience. My shark was gracefully swimming below me in the coral crevices. Wikipedia actually mentions the Marshall Islanders choosing to swim instead of wade as their method for avoiding shark bites!


	26. The Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wouldn't expect this to happen on your honeymoon. . .

     “How do you think that happened?” I asked, joining Jamie where he was scanning the horizon, sweeping his vision left and right across the iar.  Even as he still looked about he put his arm around me, resting one hand on my hip, as if he sensed my need for reassurance.

      “Dinna fash, Ripālle.  We willna die.”  Jamie grinned down at me, pulled me to him, kissed me on the forehead, and then returned his gaze to the lagoon.  “I’m pretty certain it must have been the combination of the storm with the tides.  Sometimes a storm will bring a surge ahead of it, so with that and high tide, plus the waves created by the winds, the anchor rope must have become dislodged.”

     I could almost swear I saw a metallic glint on the turquoise waters to the west of us, but it was impossible to be certain.

      “So, what do we do?” I asked.

      “The way I see it,” Jamie said, brow furrowed, “We have two choices.  The first is to just wait.  We have food, water, coconuts if we run out of water.  Maybe someone sees the Rosa’s boat and figures out.  If not, the first day when we dinna come back, they’ll think we’re being selfish and stealing time together.” He grinned at me, “Which wouldna seem that unlikely.”

      “But will they even notice if we don’t come back on Monday?” I asked.  “Rupert and Angus won’t expect you until school on Tuesday morning.”

      “That’s true,” Jamie agreed.  “Whenever they notice, though, it means tracking down another boat, another trip across the iar, and picking us up.  Sometime Tuesday, probably Wednesday at the latest.”

      “And what’s the other option?” I asked.

      “Walk and swim back,” said Jamie.  I looked at him skeptically. “At low tides, much of the sand between the islets is exposed.  For an hour before and an hour after the low tide, maybe a little longer, we could walk through the water if it’s shallow, or snorkel on the iar side to cross any of the deeper sections.  When we got to Matolen, we could walk the last five miles back to Ine, or take a truck if we lucked out and one was on this end of the island.”

      “Is that option dangerous?” I asked. 

      “Dangerous?  Not really.  But since it could be anywhere between 8 and 10 and miles back to Matolen, it would be exhausting,” Jamie answered, “But definitely more responsible.  And definitely less fun.” He had an impish smile, and I was quite certain I could guess what he was thinking.

      “We already missed two days last week with the trip to Majuro,” I said.  “If we do want to take any trips to visit your family or mine, we might not want to miss many more.”

      “Aye, Ripalle, let’s think on it,” Jamie said.  “Far as I can figure, we’re an hour or two past high tide.  That means we have four hours until low tide, just two or three hours until we’d need to start walking.  We would want to pack a bit to take along with us if we chose that option.  Enough that if we got stranded on one of the islets we could sleep and eat.”

      “Well,” I said.  “While you think that through, I have to go to the little girl’s room.”  Jamie looked confused.  “Sorry, that’s just one of our Beauchampisms from growing up.  With three girls and a mom who really liked us to be polite, we didn’t say a lot of rude words.”

      “So, saying going to the bathroom...”

      “Bahhhthroom,” I echoed him, copying the UK pronunciation.

      “Ye think it’s any better to say Baaaaathroom?” Jamie teased, in a nasal American accent. “Any way, yer ma thinks of that as rude?”

      “Yes.  Couldn’t say poop or pee, either.  Or shut up.”

      “Then, Ripalle,” Jamie said, a look of amused surprise on his face as I headed toward the palm forest, “How did ye end up with such a foul mouth?”

      “Hell if I know,” I joked.

     I wandered back through the trees to pee, and when I pulled down my bikini bottoms, I had to laugh.  Of course.  That would, number one, explain all the crying and mood swings, number two, guarantee that we didn’t have to worry about being pregnant, and number three, be just my luck.  Of course I would be  shipwrecked, on an island, during my honeymoon, _and_ start my period.

      “Hey, Jamie,” I said as I rejoined him.  “I don’t know if…What are you doing?”

     Jamie had grabbed a stick and was drawing and doing math on the sand.

      “I’m trying to figure out the tide schedule and when it will be safest to hike and swim across the underwater sections.”

      “So you’re leaning toward walking back?” I asked. 

      “Unless ye definitely want to stay,” Jamie said. “As much as the thought of not sleeping wi’ ye in my arms in bed all night tonight pains me, I dinna want to be on Dougal’s bad side.”  He looked at me hopefully.  “But maybe ye’ll make an exception and not make me wait until two o’clock to have ye again.”

      “Speaking of which,” I said, discomfited by the thought of having to disappoint him.  “I just…well…I um…”

     Jamie waited, a confused half-smile on his face.

      “I guess I’ll just say it,” I said.  “I appear to have started my period.”

      “Oh,” Jamie said, good-humored as always, but with a faint hint of disappointment on his face.  “Well, now, Ripalle, having not been married before, thinking how periods impact sex has not crossed my mind before.  So I’m assuming…nah, I dinna want to assume anything.  What do ye need?”

      “Definitely not sex,” I said. “The first order of business is figuring out how to take care of it,” I said.  “I wasn’t expecting it, so I didn’t think to bring along any tampons.”

      “Are ye sure ye even want to come with me, now that’s happened?  The rumors about menstruating women and sharks haven’t proven to be true, so it wouldna be a danger, but I wouldna want ye have any extra pain because of exerting yerself.  I could go alone instead, and travel fast.  I might even make it back by tonight so we could come and get ye tomorrow.”

      “You’re not going without me,” I said stubbornly.  “I just need something to use as pads in my underwear.”

     Jamie cocked his head and looked at me with a small smile.  “Come along then,” he said.  “I guess we should do some packing, and I think I have a solution.”

      _He’s not phased by anything_ , I thought as I followed him.  _Not grossed out, not resentful.  What hidden evil lurks in his heart?_   I laughed out loud.

      “What?” Jamie asked, turning curiously to look back at me.

      “You’re too good, Jamie,” I said.  “I need you to be selfish and evil every once in a while.”

      “How do you mean?” he asked, waiting for me to catch up to him.

      “Aren’t you upset?” I asked.  “That my period started?  That we can’t have sex?”

      “That you’re a _woman_?” he said, grinning.  “I kind of hoped ye were.  I dinna think I would have married ye if ye weren’t.”

      “You’re adorable,” I said, grabbing him around the waist and turning my face up for a kiss.

      “And if we’re married as long as I plan, I figure I have thousands more times I can make love to ye.  Now we can make getting home our priority.  And maybe it’s a good thing.  If I think you’re off limits, perhaps I’ll stop getting distracted by yer luscious round arse in that bathing suit.”  He reached down to grab my rear and groaned.  Then he turned, took my hand, and led me back to camp.

     Jamie’s solution for my woman problem was to tear one of his old white tee shirts into 8 pieces, folding the rectangles into bulky little pads. He gave one to me and packed the rest into a zip-top plastic bag.

     I packed our suitcases so they’d be ready to leave the island whenever we were able to come back and get them again.  We each took along a swimsuit in addition to wearing our clothes for walking. 

     Jamie had a cooler that he could tow when he swam.  Into it we put several water bottles, the matches, my pads, some of the leftover rice in baggies, and the rest of the bananas.  We figured we could eat fish and coconut as well and that would be sufficient fuel.  There was just enough room at the top to shove in his shorts and tee and my sundress and underwear when we needed to swim.

     The machete and fish spear were going to be more of a challenge.  We needed them for opening coconuts and catching fish, but they were a little heavier, both for carrying and when the time came to swim.  We finally landed on Jamie carrying the cooler and machete, while I would carry the bedroll in its waterproof sack and the fish spears.  Finally we rigged up a way for each of us to carry our fins, snorkels and masks around our shoulders.

     By Jamie’s calculations, low tide would be at 3 p.m.  So as irony would have it, instead of retreating to our tent at 2 p.m., we found ourselves hiking down the beach to reach the end of Autle as close to the final descent of the tide as possible.

     At the beginning it felt like an adventure.  We tromped through the calf-deep water over white sand.  The tide was going out, so it was as if the lagoon was an overflowing cup and the water was spilling outward, but it wasn’t pushing too strongly against us.  The depth of the water (or one could say, the height of the sand) went up and down, but as the first hour progressed, I could tell that in general the water level was falling. 

     Jamie had guessed quite closely, but low tide was a little after three.  After a while, we could sense the water shifting directions again in the open portions of the atoll.  We passed a few islets and found it easier to walk around them on the sand than to try to blaze our way through the thick underbrush.  By 4:45, the water had risen to the point that it was too exhausting to slog our way through.  At this point we decided to rest for a little while on a tiny islet, and then swim as long as we could. 

     We sat on the sand looking out toward the lagoon, pulled out the rice and bananas, and had them with a bottle of water as we rested in the shade. As we finished, Jamie was gazing at me, somewhat longingly.

      “Whatcha thinking about?” I asked.

     Dessert,” he said wistfully.  “Something round, and soft, and sweet.”

  


Adorable illustration "Honeymoon on the Marshall Islands" by Cantrix_grisea

  


      “You know, just because I’m having my period doesn’t mean I’m off limits to touch completely,” I said.  “I’m not diseased.  It’s not catching.  I still want to be connected!” I stood, peeled off my sundress, laid it on the sand between Jamie’s knees, and sat down on it in front of him.

     He reached out his hands, and I could feel the barest brush of his fingertips on my skin.  He traced the shape of my shoulders, down my arms until he’d raised goose bumps.  I leaned back against his chest, my arms propped on his knees, giving him better access to cup his hands under my breasts.  When he did, he sighed contentedly, leaning forward to kiss my shoulder.  “Softer than baby ducks.  Or kittens,” he murmured.  I giggled, which made him clasp me harder and nip my shoulder.  “Are ye laughing at me?” he said. 

      “Maybe,” I said, leaning into him as he grabbed my hair to pull it out of the way and nuzzle my neck. 

      “Christ, Claire,” Jamie groaned.  “If I thought I desired women when I was a virgin, that’s nothing in comparison to the way I feel now.  How long do your courses run?  How often does a married man die of sex starvation?”

     I laughed again.  “I feel hungry too,” I said, “But five days isn’t forever.”

      “I wonder…” Jamie said, then stopped.

      “What?” I asked.

      “Do couples ever…nah,” he said.

      “You can ask me, Jamie,” I said.  I could feel him squirm in discomfort behind me.

      “Do some couples still make love during the woman’s period?” Jamie asked.

      “Yeah,” I said, “but usually when they have access to a shower and laundry facilities.  And not usually at the very beginning of the cycle. More likely toward the end, when it’s been just too long!”

     Jamie was silent behind me. I could sense that our interaction was a little overstimulating for him.

      “It’s probably time to continue anyway,” I said. “We’ve got a ways to go!”

     After changing into our swim wear, we put on our fins as we stood by the water.  Jamie tied a rope connecting his belt with the cooler. I held the strap of the bedroll bag in one hand and the spears in the other, and Jamie carried the machete.

      “That’s our goal,” Jamie said, pointing to a medium sized islet about a mile away, with a good number of coconut palms, what looked like a slight sandy clearing in the middle, and a clear view to Matolen in the distance.

     I tried to think of it like a regular snorkeling or spear fishing trip as we swam, though I didn’t typically go snorkeling after hiking five miles, though.  Occasionally I would look up to see our progress, but as the exhaustion set in I stopped and just focused on the flurry of bubbles created by Jamie’s fins in front of me.

     When we finally arrived, I pulled myself from the water and lay panting on the beach in exhaustion. It was close to sunset.  Jamie dropped the machete and untied the cooler, then grabbed a fish spear from me.

      “Need to catch supper,” he said in answer to my confused expression, sloshing away toward the lagoon.

     I caught my breath a while longer, then powered through the pain, heading up into the islet to gather wood and dried, fallen palm fronds for our fire.  I got the fire started and took the machete into the brush where I found a pandanus tree, and hacked off a number of the frond filled branches. While I wouldn’t have time to weave a pandanus mat for sleeping, it would provide some padding to make sleep easier. I tossed the branches into a pile and went back to feed the fire.

 

     We ate the barbecued fish, coconut, and the last of the rice by the light of the fire.  “I’m guessing we’re over halfway there,” Jamie said, looking at the portion of the journey ahead.  “But here’s the situation.  The next low tide will be a little less than 12 hours away.  That means 2, maybe 2:30 in the morning.  We do have flashlights, and reef sharks probably won’t be prowling in a foot of water, but that does mean hiking in the middle of the night.”

      “What happens if we don’t do it then?” I asked.

      “Well, then we have to wait until 1 or two tomorrow afternoon to start our hike back.  That’s fine with me, but you’ll miss Depo day.  And that could be detrimental to your patients,” Jamie said.

     I sighed.  I was already exhausted, but it really seemed like the only option.

     After a too-brief respite of sleep, wrapped up in our sheet (and Jamie’s arms), we packed up by flashlight and headed, again, across the sand flats.  By that point I could do nothing but woodenly put one foot in front of the other.

     Suddenly I felt a stabbing, burning pain. I screamed, “What was that?  My ankle!  It burns!”

     Jamie trained his flashlight on my ankle.  A red stripe wrapped itself around my leg. “Jellyfish,” he said matter-of-factly. “Come on.”

      “Jellyfish?” I sobbed.  The sting in my ankle was worse than any burn I’d ever had.  “Jellyfish?!!” I was furious and hurt and just plain exhausted.

      “We can’t stop, Claire,” said Jamie.  “We have to keep going.”

     I stood in the ankle deep water, crying. “I’m sandy. I’m sticky. I’m gross.  I’m tired. This sting hurts. I can’t do it, Jamie.”

      “Ye have to,” said Jamie.

      “I can’t!”  I wailed.

     If I’d expected a hug, I thought wrong.  I was shocked out of my fit by a firm smack on my butt.

      “We don’t have time for emotion right now, Claire,” Jamie said. “Walk.”

      “Fuck you, Jamie Fraser,” I fumed. “You can’t spank me. I am not a child!”

      “You’re not?  Prove it. You’re mad, _good_ ,” he said. “Hate me, that’s fine. Just keep _walking_.”

     I muttered under my breath as I trudged through the water behind my horrible husband.  “Fucker. Bastard.  Shit-faced little asswipe.  God-damned cunt nugget…”

     When we finally reached Matolen and stepped out onto dry land, I burst into tears.

      “Itok, Ripalle,” Jamie said, wrapping me in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jellyfish stings are just about the most painful things you could imagine. There was a particular time of year on Arno when there was an influx of little 3-4 cm jellyfish with long trailing stingers that would beach themselves on the lagoon side. One night I was jogging on the beach and ended up getting jellyfish stingers around one ankle. Worse than any burn, it stung for more than an hour.
> 
> The polite family thing is me, too. I'm one of three girls, and we didn't say poop, pee, or shut up. Fuck that. ;)


	27. House Warming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newlyweds enjoy being at home again.

 

     “Miss Peachay.  Meester Shamie,” said a little voice.  “Miss Peachay.  Meester Shamie!”

     I pushed myself up, blinking my eyes.  Jamie and I had created a little nest for ourselves in the beach grass, spreading out the sheet and blanket  and wrapping it around us.  Apparently I’d been using Jamie’s chest as a pillow.  He stretched as well, opening one eye.

     One of the youngest Rosa girls was staring at us curiously.  She had dark hair and eyes, was wearing a brightly colored dress, and stood grinning at us.  She and Jamie had a quick conversation, much of which I didn’t understand, and she went skipping off toward the house we could see through the trees.

      “We may be in luck, Ripālle,” Jamie said.  “It sounds like Mr. Botla was planning on coming down this direction with the truck this morning, so we may not have to walk all five miles home.”

      “Ugh,” I said.  “I just want a shower.  Or even better, a bath.  Soaking in hot water would be divine…”  I groaned, stretched, and caught Jamie’s gaze at me. I raised my eyebrows at him.

     Jamie grinned at me sheepishly, “Aye, Ripālle, ye caught me thinking of ye naked. We are still freshly married, ye ken.”

      We picked up the rest of our things and limped towards the Rosa’s house.  I hadn’t realized that my sandals were giving me blisters as we walked, but now that I wasn’t running on adrenaline, I could feel the stinging sensation of sand under the straps rubbing on raw flesh.

     When we arrived at their house, we were ushered inside, seated on pandanus mats, and fussed over by several mamas and bubus who put coconut salve on my feet and fed us pancakes and papaya with lime.  I had always hated the flavor of papayas I tried in the states: floral, almost like perfume, and sickly sweet.  With fresh limes squeezed on top, suddenly the sweet was balanced with tanginess, and I actually liked the fresh rosy-orange slices.  Maybe it helped that I had burned countless calories slogging through the sand and swimming through the water the previous day and night and was starving.  Whatever the case, I was grateful to be fed and fussed over. 

     Again I felt jealous that Jamie was able to communicate so clearly with them, which made me want to work to learn more Marshallese. He had the ladies laughing as well as gasping in shock as he described our travails in detail.  I felt rested by the time the truck arrived. When Mr. Botla had his cargo loaded up, he stuck his head in the door to let us know our ride awaited.

      “Not too long now, Ripālle,” Jamie said, handing me up into the front seat of the truck. I felt awkward sitting in the front with Jamie in the back.

      “Kommol tata,” I said to Mr. Botla. 

      “You’re welcome,” he said, smiling as he started the truck.

      “You speak English?”

      “Yes—educated at the Peace Corps school and college in Majuro.  And I actually came home to Arno when I graduated.”

      “Not everyone does?” I asked.

      “The way we live in the outer islands is a dying way of life,” he answered, resigned.  “Climate change has impacted us already. We didn’t use to get typhoons here, but now our storms are stronger and more frequent. With an average elevation of 10 feet, an atoll can’t withstand much of a storm surge. Being flooded by salt water ruins the ground for growing, and then we also have periods of drought. If people who doubt that something is happening came here, they’d at least do _something_.”

      “And so when the kids get educated?”

      “They move on.  Majuro, Hawaii, mainland United States.  There’s not work for educated people here. Making copra and perhaps fishing are really the only ways to earn money.  Those levels of income can’t support the growth of service industries."

     I glanced towards the iar and ocean on either side of the road. At this point both were clearly visible, the island narrowing to about 200 feet wide.  I imagined a storm surge at the front of a huge squall like Jamie and I had experienced, but with winds of 75 or more and shuddered at the thought.  

     I’d experienced typhoons on Guam, and knew how devastating they could be. On Guam, building codes demanded that new structures be built of reinforced concrete with poured concrete roofs. Those buildings were immovable fortresses in a big storm—all you had to do was board the windows. Most houses had metal tracks outside the windows, and when storms were impending, you’d go outside and slide plywood securely into the tracks, then retreat into the house ready for the inevitable power outages. But here, the cobbled together structures weren’t meant to last through typhoons; they’d never had to in the past.

     I was grateful when I saw the clinic come into view. Jamie and I climbed out of the truck and grabbed our few rescued items.  As we approached, I could see our white sheets billowing in the breeze from the laundry lines.  I could smell a familiar scent that I couldn’t currently place coming from our windows, and I came into the apartment to find my mom, hair tied into a knot, on her knees scrubbing the shelves in my kitchen.

     At my footsteps she turned.

      “Claire!” She hopped up to hug us. “What a treat!!  We thought we’d be long gone by the time you got back.”

     She pushed me to arms length away from her. “Whatever happened to you two?  You look horrible!”

      “Thanks, Mom.  Long story,” I said. “But we’re glad to be here.” That’s when I first noticed Jamie’s wedding gift to me.  One section of the kitchen shelving had been sawed away to create space for a shiny white propane stove. “What?” I exclaimed. “There’s a stove in the kitchen now!” 

     In the bustle around the wedding, I had noticed but not noted the strange crate in our yard.  Now it was revealed that Jamie had purchased a propane oven in Majuro, and while we were gone, my parents had installed it in our house.  And currently there were two loaves of mom’s homemade bread baking.

      “Get showered and let me feed you,” Mom said.  She didn’t have to ask us twice.

     Dad was quite proud that he had mastered the wrist flick for perfectly drawing water from the well, so he bustled off to fill the shower bucket for me while I heated a pot of water on my brand-new stove.

     Clean water and shampoo, dry panties and clothes, a real tampon instead of a makeshift pad, and I was soon feeling much better.  Jamie took his turn after me and emerged from the shower, scrubbed and ruddy, at about the same time Mom was pulling the loaves from the oven. We ate the soft and delicious slices with peanut butter and honey, and both Jamie and I groaned at the sensation.

      “Come see what Dad and I did!”  My mom said excitedly when we were done with our snack.  In a sunny patch of the yard, they had built up two rectangular garden boxes with wood salvaged from the crate. They had hauled some soil from the jungle across the road, but my mom told me she thought I should get some chickens to provide eggs and manure; the sandy soil wasn’t very rich.

     Jamie followed us in amusement, listening as my mom and I chattered, with a few comments.  It turned out his family were farmers back in Scotland, and he knew a bit about gardening.

     Mom wrote out the bread recipe for me and helped me make the bed, and then it was time for them to be picked up for the trip to the air field; with a few tears, we said goodbye.

     And then Jamie and I turned and entered our house again. With the sound of the door latching and the click of the lock indicating complete privacy, there were a couple of things I _felt_ like doing, but there was still something troubling me.

      “Are ye as tired as I am, Ripālle?” asked Jamie, heading for the bed.

       “Are you just trying to get me into bed, or are you actually going to let me sleep?” I asked.

 

 

     Jamie answered with a smile, peeling off his tee shirt. “I _will_ let ye sleep, but it’s probably the other purpose, if I’m being honest,” he chuckled. “Though I ken we canna make love yet.”

      “I guess I don’t care which reason,” I yawned.  “However, I do feel like we should talk before anything.”  Jamie responded with a wary glance as we pulled down the covers and crawled under.

      “Jamie, I did tell you to be a little more evil yesterday,” I said.  “But you _hit_ me last night.  Physical or emotional abuse has always been one of my deal-breakers.”

     Jamie raised his eyebrows.  “I would hope you wouldn't think of that as me abusing you, Ripālle. I dinna say it last night, but I was scared. The tide was coming in, and we were already taking too much time to get across that last stretch.”

      “But you _smacked_ me, Jamie, like you were my father and I was a kid.”

      “Ye were right, ye arna a child, and I probably shouldna be smacking you.  Even if it was on your luscious little bum.” Jamie reached his hand down and stroked my hip.

      “Don’t joke, Jamie, I’m serious,” I said.  “Why resort to physical force with me?”

      “Huh,” he grunted.  “Here were my thoughts last night.  We had to keep moving, and ye were sleep deprived and in pain.  Did I have time to wait for ye to come around to logic?  Did I have time to hold ye gently while ye cried?  Could I carry ye?  I dinna ken so.  And if not, then tell me, please, what would ye have done?”

      “I don’t know,” I said, “But I wouldn’t have hit you.”

      “Did ye never get spanked as a child?” he asked.  “Sometimes that was the only way my ma or da could calm me down enough to get me to obey.  That was my intent, Ripālle—to get you to listen to me and do as I said—to save ye.  I didn’t do it out of anger. I didna hurt ye; I shocked ye. It stimulated your adrenaline system, which got yer brain working well enough and got ye just mad enough to start walking.”

      “It didn’t really _hurt_ ,” I said, “But it _does_ make me nervous. I had a controlling, abusive boyfriend in high school, and I never want that sort of relationship again.”

      “I understand that,” Jamie responded, pulling me closer.  “Back in Scotland there was a girl…” he paused briefly, as if remembering.  “She was very possessive.  She didna want me talking to any other girls, didna like me doing things wi’ my friends. She wanted to own me.  Leaving Scotland, the relationship with her was something I was glad to leave behind.  So I ken what ye are talking about, and I understand yer concern.”

      “Was she your other second base?” I asked teasingly.

      “Aye, though the way yer talking to me, I’m a little afraid I’m never going to get there wi’ ye again,” Jamie sighed.  He took one of my hands in both of his.  “I willna say every single decision I’ve ever made has been the right one. But marrying ye?  I think it was the most _important_ decision I’ve ever made.  We Frasers are a loyal lot; I’ve given you my name, but more importantly I’ve vowed _myself_ to you. I will fight for ye, protect ye with my life, sacrifice myself. I promise I willna hurt ye.”

     I was quiet, considering. 

      “Can ye forgive me, Claire?”  Jamie asked. “Can ye please trust me?” 

     I looked into his eyes. This was not the face of a manipulator, and by the light of day I could empathize with him.  I had been distraught, tired, and impossible to reason with.   “Maybe there would have been a better way, Jamie,” I said.  “But your intentions were right, and we’re here safely now.”  I stroked the back of his hand.

      “Can I make it up to ye, then?” Jamie asked, a tiny smile quirking the edge of his lips.  “If I hurt you, I should make ye feel _good_ as penance.” My eyes must have questioned his motives, so Jamie explained, “I saw Mrs. Botla putting the coconut salve on yer feet.  Ye liked it—I could see it on yer face.  If ye had any oil or lotion, I could massage yer feet for you.”

     I looked skeptically at him.

      “Dammit, Ripālle,” he said with a shamefaced grin. “Yer like Wonder Woman and her golden lasso!  If I can’t make love to you, can I at least see your body and touch you?  Of _course_ I plan to massage more than yer feet. But I had to start _somewhere_!”

      “Well, I haven’t had a decent massage in forever, and I do have some aloe vera massage oil,” I said.  I located the oil, laid a beach towel on our bed, stripped to my bra and panties, and lay face down.

      “Are ye keeping this on then?” asked Jamie, running his finger across my bra band.

      “You need some practice unhooking it,” I said cheekily, then shrugged the bra off and tossed over toward the closet when he succeeded.

     True to his word, Jamie did start with my feet; his strong hands, just a little rough from physical labor, gently rubbing the oil into my skin. He then moved gradually upwards,  first working from the left side of the bed til he'd massaged my left thigh,  then kneeling on the bed beside me to massage my right leg. By the time he finished my back and shoulders, I felt a combination of hyper-alertness and relaxation.

      “Well,” I sighed. “I think that more than made up for your sin.  Now I think it's my turn to touch you!” I looked up at his eyes and could see how that suggestion was affecting him.

     I didn't put my clothes back on. Wearing just my panties, I massaged Jamie's muscular legs, though it was hard to get him to relax, since he kept turning to watch me at my work.

      “Stop watching me,” I scolded, finally making it impossible by climbing astride him and kneeling as I massaged his shoulders and back. Touching him was pleasurable, his muscles defined under his smooth tanned skin. He was more ticklish than I expected, wriggling especially when I got anywhere near his sides.

      “I'm going mad wi desire,” Jamie groaned finally, as with my hands I traced the length of his arms which were bent above his head, once again letting my breasts drift across his skin. He reached back with his right hand and gripped my right ankle, then in one smooth motion rolled himself over underneath me.

     I was feeling my share of arousal from being touched, from the silky feel of lotion on Jamie‘s smooth skin, from knowing I was giving him pleasure, and from seeing his beautiful masculine body. Now I could feel his desire as well, hard beneath me.  As I saw the look of hunger on his face, I bent to kiss him.

      “Oh, God, Claire,” Jamie groaned, thrusting his hands into my hair and pulling me down to him.  “I dinna ken how I’m going to wait." 

In answer, I took one of his hands and placed it on my breast, and then started moving over him, rubbing myself against him. 

      “I wish I was done, too,” I whispered in his ear.  “I can’t wait until I can have you inside me again.”

 

       Jamie flipped us over and pressed his body against me, kissing me with enthusiastic urgency—my lips, my neck, and breasts.  I wasn’t surprised when it happened, as aroused as I was, but it shocked Jamie.

      “Did you just…come?” Jamie pulled back from me, looking stunned. “So it doesn’t take…”

      “Intercourse?” I said.

      “No, I know it doesn’t take _that_ —remember the shower?”  Jamie smiled.  I definitely remembered.  “No, I'm wondering--it doesn’t take direct _contact_?”

      “That pressure was pretty direct,” I said, looking up at him.  “Now, I’m not going to make you go without.  Lie back, and let me take care of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In researching and looking up pictures of Arno, I ended up at the website of Philip Jessup, who has written a photo book chronicling the challenges of the current islanders on Arno. His pictures brought tears to my eyes, they were so beautiful. But I was also devastated to learn how even a few centimeters of ocean depth is having life-altering consequences for the islanders that I loved. [Philip's Beautiful Pictures ](https://www.jessup.ca/atolls/)


	28. Feels Like Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's starting to feel like home--on Arno, and in Jamie's arms._

     We had napped an hour or so when a knock came on the door.   “You coming, Miss Peachay?”

     I shot bolt upright.  “Yes, Sharbella, I’m coming!”  I slithered into a loose-fitting dress, then noticed Jamie’s toned bare backside, which I admired before covering it with the sheet.   Even in sleep he looked satisfied, tousled red hair framing a half-smile.  I’d made use of the aloe lotion to give Jamie another first experience, and had enjoyed watching his incredulous response.  “Sweet virgin,” I said, as I left the apartment.

     There was a short line of women between the ages of 15 and 50 outside the clinic.  “Joḷọk bōd,” I said, apologizing. _(“Joe lock burr” roll the d like a Scottish r)_

      “Ejjeḷọk bōd,” the women responded. Jamie had told me I should ask him sometime about the true meaning of the Majel words for “I’m sorry” and “it’s okay,” so I made a mental note to ask him at dinner.

     I was about to head inside the clinic when two familiar figures came slouching down the road.

      “Angus!  Rupert!” I exclaimed, trotting over to them. It would have been the most natural thing in the world to hug them as well as greet them, but I reminded myself I was only recently forgiven by the locals for my terrible manners.

      “We’re not talking to you anymore, Miss Peach,” said Rupert, looking away.

      “Or Jamie, either,” agreed Angus.

      “Aye, but it’s mostly Jamie we’re angry with.” The guys nodded at each other, agreeing on that opinion.

      “Why?” I asked.

      “Ye were our friend, too, Miss Peach, and now he’s stolen you away,” Rupert said grumpily.

      “And,” added Angus, “I never got a chance to invite ye to the jungle… _or_ to get to see ye changing.”

      “As well,” Rupert added, “Jamie was the best cook of the three of us. And ye stole him.”

      “Ohhh,” I murmured empathetically. “Well, we can fix that!  Come over for dinner tonight! Jamie got me a stove.”

      “Are ye serious?” Angus asked. “Can ye ask us over wi’out asking yer husband’s permission?” I made a face at him.

“You’ll always be welcome in our house,” I said. 

     For the entire afternoon, I was subjected to merciless but good-natured teasing by the local women as I gave them their contraceptive shots.  One particularly beautiful young woman asked me, “You have depo? Or you make baby?”

     I had Sharbella help me say “Ij jab kōṇaan bōroro kiiō,” meaning I didn’t want to get pregnant right now. “Kōttar jidik,” I added, trying out my memory of the phrase ‘wait a little.’

     They agreed that I should wait, but only a little, and quickly began to describe the children Jamie and I would have.  “Lukuun kilep nin͂nin͂,” said one.

     Sharbella giggled as she translated, “Extremely big babies.”

      “With curly red hair,” chuckled another girl. “Būrōrō bōrañañ.”

     Various jokes centered around Jamie’s large size.  “Mister Shamie is lukuun kilep.  Aolep lilik?” Sharbella shook her head in embarrassment as she explained they were remarking that Jamie was extremely big, and asking whether that was true of him _everywhere_.  I couldn’t help but blush, which made the ladies roar in laughter.

     What I noticed, though, was that my marriage actually made them more comfortable with me.  They were joking, laughing.  A few were even brave enough to ask questions about uncomfortable menstrual cycles or how long they should wait between children.

     After the women left, Sharbella smiled at me. “They like you,” she said. “They are happy you marry Mister Shamie. You too old to not be married. Some girls, not so happy that Mister Shamie has a wife; but the mamas are very happy. They don’t want their daughters to marry him and move far away.”

      “Do _you_ need birth control?” I asked Sharbella as she was about to leave. She was probably in her mid-to-late 30s, and I knew she already had a couple kids. She was a little heavy, and always moved about wearily.

     She smiled shyly, “No,” she said. “I don’t need it. I’m _pregnant_.”  She waved to me and headed down the road.

     After she left, I brought out one last syringe. I stared at it, then set it down on the counter.  For an      infertile woman, there was something sad and senseless about putting a hormone to prevent pregnancy into my body; I wanted to talk to Jamie first.

     When I entered the apartment, Jamie was sitting at the kitchen table naked, grading papers and making lesson plans.

      “You’re adorable,” I said, squeezing his buns and nuzzling his neck. “But you need to get dressed. We’re having company over for dinner.”

      “On our honeymoon?” Jamie asked skeptically. “I wanted to see you naked again!”

      “We will need friends when you’re impotent and I’m fat, Jamie,” I said, laughing as he leaned back and pulled me into his lap. “But right now, there appears to be little danger of either,” I added, wide-eyed, as he kissed me thoroughly.

     Finally I pulled myself away and set about the task of making pasta, delighted that I had enough burners for pasta, sauce, _and_ a vegetable, as well as the ability to toast up some fresh bread with garlic powder and Parmesan cheese on it in the oven at the same time.

      “Open the windows, Jamie,” I suggested. “And could you make the bed, too?  It smells like bodies and sex in here, and Rupert and Angus don’t need to be any more jealous than they already are.”

     I pulled out my cellphone to take a picture once I’d set the table with our sad little plastic plates and mis-matched silverware.  Despite the complete dysfunctionality of virtually every other app on the phone, I continued to maintain a charge simply for the camera.

     Jamie came up behind me and hugged me.  “First dinner in the new home?”

      “And first houseguests,” I said.  “Who, from the sounds of it, are arriving as we speak.”

     When we sat down, there was a bit of awkward silence. Jamie was staring at Angus rather harshly, and finally Angus cleared his throat.  “Miss Peach,  it wasna very nice to call Dougal on the two of ye, though it all worked out well in the end, didn’t it?”

     Jamie continued to stare at Angus threateningly.

      “And, I’m sorry.  I hope you will forgive me,” he finished.  Jamie finally seemed satisfied.

      “I understand where you were coming from, and I can forgive you, Angus,” I said.  “It seemed mean at the time, though.”

     “Aye,” he said, shamefacedly.  “Sorry, lass.”

     It was good to have Angus and Rupert around again, and they were adequately impressed with my culinary skills, limited as they were.  Mostly they were surprised by the abundance of the food, and I had to encourage them to eat more so we wouldn’t have to throw anything away.

      “That would be a good reason to get pigs or chickens,” Jamie said.  “Yer da thought that maybe if we built a pen, we could use the manure to enrich the garden beds.”

      “Animals wander freely on Arno,” Rupert said.  “The locals might look at you funny.”

      “Well, it would probably be better than trying to run around behind them to collect the manure,” retorted Angus.

     After we finished eating, Rupert and Angus looked around the room. 

      “I dinna think we should sit on their bed again,” Rupert said.  “I’m sure there are all sorts of germs in it.”

      “And ye havena got a couch,” complained Angus.

      “Let’s just stay at the table,” I suggested.  “You boys all have to teach tomorrow anyway.  And if you figure out a way to build me a couch, I’ll take it in payment for future dinner invitations.” Rupert and Angus nodded in agreement.

      “Jamie,” I said, scooting a little closer to him on the bench. “You told me there was an interesting way you found out about the Marshallese words for ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘It’s okay.’”

     Jamie nodded, getting an alert look in his eyes and sitting up straighter.  The story-teller in him waking up, I guess.

      “You know, you sit down before the school year begins and you plan out the rules and so forth?  The three of us did that, thinking we had all the possible rules we needed.  So, we start teaching last year, and it’s the first recess.  Rupert and Angus and I are watching the kids play outside, when all of the sudden one of them starts crying.”

      “It was one of the little guys,” said Rupert, “So I went to see what was wrong…”

      “Well,” said Jamie. “He said that one of the other kids had thrown a rock at him.”

      “We thought it was a pretty bad thing to do, though the rock he showed us was more like a baby pebble,” said Angus, “so we had the person who threw the rock have a time out from recess.”

      “And later that day, we go over the rules, adding “Don’t throw rocks at people,” as one of the rules.  But the next day, recess time, two different kids start crying because two different people threw rocks at them.  We ask a few more questions, and it turns out the crying kids had been teasing somebody or breaking the rules of the game.  We reiterate the rules.”

      “But the next day,” said Rupert.  “More rock throwing.  We were totally at our wits’ end with these kids.  Wondered how in this incredibly gentle culture they were being raised to be such violent human beings.”

      “Then,” Jamie said, leaning forward, “We decided to go bwebwenato that first weekend—you remember, Claire, how you just stop by and visit people?  And we’re sitting on a mat in someone’s yard, and a dog across the yard goes sniffing at some food.”

      “Just like that,” exclaimed Angus, “The dog yelps and runs away.  We look around, wondering what happened.”

      “And then, one of the bigger boys is teasing his younger brother.  We glance over at the mama to see if she has a problem with it, and to our surprise,” said Jamie, his volume increasing, “She picks up a pebble, and with complete accuracy, she aims the pebble at her bigger son, who says ‘Ouch,’ or ‘Emetak!’ or whatever.”  Angus and Rupert both smiled as Jamie finished. “We realized that day that we were never going to be able to combat the rock throwing at school.  Not if a beautiful, calm, kind Majel mother uses that as one of her forms of getting after her kids.” 

     “It worked awesome, though,” said Rupert.  “She didna have to yell or anything,”

      “So what does that have to do with ‘I’m sorry’?” I asked.

      “Oh, I’m not done yet,” said Jamie.  “There are also dogs that run wild here on Arno.  We were on a longer walk, heading toward Matolen, and a dog came out of the jungle, baring its teeth.”

      “It looked pretty fierce,” agreed Angus.

      “So, we dinna have any weapons,” said Jamie.  “The only thing I can think of is to lean down and pick up a rock.  So I do.  And the dog yelps and runs the other direction.  All I do is _pick up_ the rock.  I didna even have to throw it!”

      “The Marshallese have crazy-amazing throwing skills!” said Rupert.  The three boys all stared at me expectantly.

      “Okay,” I said.  “The Marshallese are great at throwing.  And?”

      “Here it is, Ripālle.  Guess what jolọk bōd means, literally,” Jamie said.  His eyes were alight; he was obviously excited.

      “There’s the jolok boat,” I said, hesitantly.  “But I don’t know what it means.”

      “Jolok means _throw_.  Jolọk bōd means …throw…away…my…mistake!” Jamie ended triumphantly.

     And I finally got it, where all Jamie’s lead-up was going.  “That’s _awesome_!” I laughed.  “You ask them to throw away your mistake, because you know they’re really good at throwing things.”

     The boys all nodded, smiling. “So then, ejjeḷọk bōd, what you say back.  What does that mean?” I asked.

      “Ejjeḷọk means ‘nothing,’” Jamie said.  “So you see?  You tell them to throw away your mistake, then they say, ‘there is no mistake’—‘there’s nothing here.’” He grinned at me. “It’s one of my favorite Majel translations.”

      “You have another one?” I asked.

      “Aye,” he said, “but let’s save that for another night.”

     Even without turning to look at Jamie, I could tell he must be hinting to Angus and Rupert that it was time for them to go, from the way they were wordlessly communicating with their own eyebrows.  I rolled my eyes and got up from the table.

      “Who is going to help me with the dishes?” I asked, inspiring Angus and Rupert to quickly realize they needed to be getting home.  As they left, Jamie grinned at me, grabbing the water bucket and heading outside to the well.

     “Hey, Angus,” I called out from the doorstep at the retreating figures.  “I’m not that good at throwing, but just in case you needed to hear it, Ejjeḷọk bōd!”

     “Koṃṃol tata,” he said back.  “Thanks, Claire.”

 

     Evening chores complete and the water prepped for morning showers, it was time for bed.

     As Jamie closed all the curtains, I stood in front of my dresser.  It seemed rather cruel to wear any of the lingerie I’d bought since I still wasn’t interested in having intercourse, but somewhat unfriendly to put on regular pajamas.

      “If I dinna like it, I can take it off,” Jamie said, as if reading my mind. “And if ye wear those itty bitty shorts and tops, I can finally do all the things I thought of when I held ye on my lap and in the swing, and when ye slept wi’ me.”

      “God, you’re adorable,” I said, grabbing a tank top and shorts from my drawer.  Jamie watched as I pulled the shorts on and put my tank top on over my bra.  “Don’t get so disappointed, baby boy,” I said at the look on his face, skillfully removing the bra from underneath the tank top.

     Jamie wrinkled his forehead at me.  “Baby boy, adorable?  Is this what I get for marrying an older woman?  Isna that what you say about puppies?”

      “Come to bed,” I said, reaching for his hand.

     He stopped and pulled off his shorts. “I dinna care what yer wearing; I’m sleeping naked.”

     Lights off, tucked into bed, I snuggled next to Jamie as he slipped his hands under my tank top, grunting contentedly.

     In the darkness I felt braver somehow. “When I say you’re adorable, Jamie, I mean I _adore_ you. I look at you, strong and handsome, wise and like-able, and I can’t believe you’re mine.”

     My compliment was met with silence, and I felt foolish.  But then I felt Jamie move next to me, exploring me with his hands until he found my face, then leaning his lips to mine.

      “Nah, Claire,” he said huskily.  “I’m the lucky one.  That yer here, in my arms.  That I get to hold you, to touch your body, that you do what you do for me.”  Laughter rumbled in his chest, and I could feel him shaking his head. “You amaze me, Ripālle.  I’m dumbstruck.”

     He lay back down, silent for a moment. “Can I ask ye a question?”

      “Of course.” I put my hand on his chest.

      “I’m not trying to make it sound like ye have endless experience when it comes to men, but did ye feel this way with them—the ones you had before Frank?  Is this normal?  Is this the way it is?”

      “I never felt this way with anyone,” I said. He was silent, but when he spoke again I could sense an undercurrent of fear in his voice.

      “Did ye ever feel this way with Frank?”

      “No,” I said.  “It’s different with you.  I’ve never felt this way before.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Joḷọk bōd” and “Ejjeḷọk bōd” were my favorite Marshallese phrases. The other girls and I were unintentionally rude so many times, it felt like we were constantly apologizing. But there was something about asking them to throw away our mistakes and hearing them answer that our mistakes were nowhere to be found, accompanied by a wide white smile in a beautiful brown face.


	29. Division of Labor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working out the kinks of newly married life, and figuring each other out a little more.

     Tuesday morning, Jamie got dressed and tossed his things for school together.  “So, lunch?”  I asked him.  “Do you usually pack a lunch or eat with Angus and Rupert?”

      “I dinna ken what I should do,” he said, wrinkling his forehead.  “We excuse the kids at lunch time for an hour.  I would usually eat at home with Angus and Rupert, but that’s not home anymore.”  He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.  “What if I want to see my wife?”

      “Well, you could come home,” I said coquettishly.  “Though the travel to and from the school would take a good percentage of your lunch break.  From the way they talked last night, I think they miss you, Jamie.  We’ve got bread, peanut butter, honey.  You could make a sandwich or two, eat there at lunch, and then just come home after school.”

      “ _I_ could make a sandwich, is it?”  he said.  “My _wife’s_ not going to do that for me?”

      “Your wife has plenty to do without also making you a lunch,” I replied.

      “But my ma always made lunch for my da,” Jamie said.  He really appeared to be serious about this expectation.  I had thought he was joking; realizing he wasn’t, I started to feel irritated.

      “Well, in the _Beauchamp_ household,” I retorted, “My ‘da’ was the one who made breakfast _and_ lunches for us all, and when we started to complain about what was in them, we started making our own.”

     I could see that Jamie was sorting his thoughts.  Finally, he smiled.  “Okay, Ripālle.  I can make myself a sandwich.  But I think you and I should maybe spend some time sharing how things were in our own families and creating our own roles and expectations.”  He stepped into the kitchen, pulling the peanut butter off the shelf, then turned to look at me.  “Would ye like me to make you a sandwich, too?”

      “Yes, that would be nice, Jamie,” I said.  “I’m sorry.  I was being selfish with my time.  And I agree.  They say that expectation is the enemy of happiness.  A lot of what Frank and I dealt with when we first moved in together was just not communicating and expecting things to be a particular way.”

     Jamie frowned.  “D’ye think about him a lot, Frank?”  He had taken a cutting board from the shelves and cut six even slices of bread, laying them down in pairs of two.

      “Less than I think I should,” I said.  “But life here is a million miles away from the way things were in Boston.” I pulled the honey from the pantry shelf and handed it to him. “There’s barely anything that reminds me of him here.  I’m drawing water from the well, doing laundry by hand, cooking, and working.  In primitive conditions like these, life feels more urgent and immediate.  And I’m so focused on _now_ , that I’ve not thought a lot about what’s gone.”

     He nodded, concentrating on drizzling the honey on the sandwiches.  I grabbed three bags from the pantry and, closing one piece of bread on top of the other, put each sandwich into a bag.

      “Do _you_ think about Frank much, Jamie?” I asked.

      “Aye, a little,” said Jamie.  “I dinna understand him breaking up with the woman he’s loved for years.  And I dinna understand how he could let you come.  He should have set the date then and there.  I see that ye are a woman who kens yer own mind, so maybe he is just a man that knew well enough to give ye space.  But I do wonder what he’s like.  He’s older than me, I know.  And more successful, more knowledgeable.”

     I chuckled, “But ironically, also a teacher.”  I hadn’t contradicted Jamie.  I wondered if he had noticed.  Seeing the look on his face, I walked over to Jamie and wrapped my arms around his waist.  Looking up at him, I said, “That’s over now.  It’s done.  We’re _married_.  Don’t worry.”

     “Dinna fash,” he said.  At my confused expression, he said, “That’s the Gaelic for ‘Don’t worry.’” 

     “It’s hard, though,” Jamie said, looking down at his feet.  “I ken you wouldna be married to me if he hadna broken up wi’ ye.”  He took the two sandwich bags from me, lifted my chin with his finger and kissed me on the lips.  “And I’ve learned something else today.  In the Fraser household, we make lunches _together_.”

      “The Beauchamp-Fraser household,” I reached up and pulled him to me more firmly, his sweetness suddenly causing me to be overcome with a desire to make out with him.  Jamie set the sandwiches down before they could get squished, and squeezed some of my softer bits enthusiastically.  Finally he pushed me away with a grin.  “Ye sure ye dinna want me to come home at lunch today?”

      “No,” I said.  “I need to focus on clinic, and you should spend some time with your friends.”

      “Any idea on when…” Jamie indicated my pelvic area with a little hand gesture , “ _that_ will be over?  I dinna ken how long I can wait until we can be together again.”

      “It’s slowing down,” I smiled encouragingly.  “Maybe tomorrow. And in the meantime, there are many other things we can still do.”

      “Aye?” Jamie said, a look of curious anticipation on his face.  He picked up his backpack, slipped the sandwiches inside, smooched me firmly on the lips, and headed out the front door. “"See ye around four then.”

      “Have a good day at work, James,” I said. 

      “You have a good day, too, Ripālle,” he said.

 

     A few people meandered in during the clinic hours when Sharbella was there.  One little girl had been cut on coral and it had gotten infected.  Another mother brought in her son who had a boil on his leg.  One of the older men, who Sharbella called Jima (Shima) had a hacking cough that had been troubling him for a while. 

     I asked her what Jima’s last name was to try to find his file, and Sharbella laughed.  “Jima means Grandpa.  We call all the elder men Jima, in respect.  His _name_ is Toko Bwelok.

     When the clinic hours were over at one, I bid Sharbella goodbye, left a little note on the white board of where to find me, grabbed the seeds from the pantry, and headed to the garden boxes.  Reading the instructions as to depth and concentration for planting the seeds, I planted a row of tomatoes, one of peppers, one of cucumbers, and one of long beans.  I thought I’d try a short season root crop as well, so I also planted some radishes and carrots.  Next I used the shovel to build up two mounds in the ground beside the boxes.  Moneo had told me that squash was one of the things that grew naturally in the Marshall Islands, so I assumed the soil would work fine. 

     It took three trips to the well to get enough water to saturate the beds and the two mounds to make sure my seeds would have the best chance of growing.  Finally I tossed the netting we were using to keep the chickens and other birds out of the beds over the top of the boxes.

     Around that time, the pick-up truck came rattling by.  Two men got out, and grabbed things out of the truck bed.  I had to walk halfway across the yard to see it was our suitcases and other supplies.  I repeatedly thanked them, in both English and Marshallese.  “How much do we owe you?” I asked.

      “Ejjab.  Ejjelok.”  They said, shaking their heads and waving their hands.  Even if I hadn’t recognized the words as No and Nothing I would have understood them. 

     I smiled at them in gratitude and said, “Thank you so much! Kommol tata,” as they went on their way.  Since there weren’t any patients waiting, I grabbed the suitcases and lugged them into the house.  Glancing at the clock, I tried to calculate the hours until sundown.  We hadn’t done laundry this weekend, so I imagined we’d be running out of underwear at some point.  Looking into our laundry hamper, though, I realized that the only thing in it was our clothing from yesterday.  _My mother had done our laundry_.  Hand scrubbed my panties and Jamie’s briefs, dried and folded them, and put them away. 

      “Mom!” I sighed, shook my head, teared up, and promptly sat down on the floor by the laundry basket.  That was how you divided labor—serving other people because you _loved_ them.  I knew, too, that Acts of Service was one of my mom’s love languages—that she expressed her love to people by _doing_ things for them.

     By the time Jamie came home, I had scribbled some notes out on a pad of paper.  Without the help of the internet, I had to depend on my memory, but I thought I had summarized the five love languages decently well.  I was all ready to start on my Cosmo quiz, but Jamie had other things on his mind as he came in the door and locked it behind him.

      “It is very hard to teach with a cockstand,” he said, taking me in his arms.

      “A _what_?” I laughed.  “Oh… _Oh_!  I get it.” 

      “Yer so beautiful, I couldna get ye out of my mind all day,” Jamie groaned.  “Can’t we please?  We can put a towel down.  Ye can shower after.  I need you.”

     I felt the same desire, especially with his hands on me.  “I don’t mind,” I said.  “I just hadn’t imagined you would want to. I didn’t want to gross out a virgin during his first week of sex.”

      “Aye, but I havena _had_ a week of sex,” Jamie responded.  “Just..” he counted on his fingers, “Friday, and Saturday, and…oh, we didna do anything Sunday because ye were too sore,” he smiled suggestively.  “And then yer period started and we hiked back from Autle.  Yesterday we had a little fun in the afternoon, and ye let me feel ye up last night.  But Claire, I’m dying here.”

      “Fill the shower bucket and take my towel out there,” I said, smiling as I handed the towel to him.  “I’ll get some water boiling.”

      “I’m going to make it worth yer while,” he said, nodding earnestly.

      “You don’t have to convince me, Jamie,” I said.  “I want you, too.”

 

     Afterwards, Jamie lay flat on his back, staring breathlessly up at the ceiling.  “I think it’s a good thing I didna ken what I was missing all these years,” he said. 

      “Yeah,” I said. “Kind of hard not to want it once you’ve had it.”

     Jamie turned toward me, admiring my body as he stroked me with his hand.  “I dinna ken whether knowing I could have ye next to me this afternoon made my day harder or easier,” he said, sighing at the feel of soft skin on his fingers, and smiling at the way his touch raised goosebumps and made me shiver.  “The day seemed very long, to be honest, but I did feel that in the hard moments, I could encourage myself by thinking, ‘Ye can get through this.  Ye’ve got something to look forward to.’”

     I reluctantly pulled myself away.  “Can you take the hot water out?  I need to get my shower, and can’t really do anything that slows me down.”

     Jamie kissed me firmly on the lips, grabbed his sarong to wrap it around himself, stuck his feet in his flipflops, and took out the water pot.

     When I was finished with my shower, I came inside to find Jamie dressed in his swimwear.  “Fish and rice tonight?” he asked.  “I can go out spearfishing.”

      “That sounds good,” I said.  “I’ll see if Maria will teach me how to use her grating bench.  Though, I think I need a coconut.”

     Jamie showed me how the mature coconuts were often blown down from the tree by the wind.  He walked over with me to Meto and Maria’s house, and showed me how to jam the coconut husk onto the flat metal coconut husking bar protruding from the ground, then twist it to get sections of the dry husk off.  Jamie used their machete to give the coconut a sharp rap to split it in half.

     Then Jamie headed off, while Maria demonstrated how to sit on the bench and lean on the coconut husk to grate it into a bowl.  I felt like I was getting as much coconut on the ground as I was into the bowl, but Maria and I laughed about it, and she continued to show me how to hold the coconut better and not accidentally grate my hands.

 

  


  


     Jamie used the oven to bake the fish instead of a fire for barbecuing, but we found that using the broil function created a nice burnt finish to the skin. 

      “Now, is this the first dinner in our house with just the two of us?” I asked, as we sat across from each other.

      “Aye,” said Jamie, grinning at me.  “I think I like being a married man.”

 

     After doing the dinner dishes together, we slipped on our flip-flops and went for a walk down the main road and back on the beach.  When there was no one around, Jamie held my hand, or threw his arm over my shoulder to draw us close.   “Isn’t it rude to be physically affection in public?” I asked.

      “They know Americans are different.  But, we should probably be respectful of their culture,” Jamie agreed reluctantly, taking his arm off my shoulders. 

     We visited with several children, and I tried out my Marshallese on them, asking them their names and what they were doing.  They chattered so fast I couldn’t understand, but Jamie would translate.  At one point, he said they told him, “Miss Peachay talks like a baby.” 

      “Well,” I retorted in faux irritation, “I am just learning.  I guess it’s better to talk like a jidik nin͂nin͂ than to speak nothing at all.”

      “That’s good,” Jamie said.  “You know the words for tiny baby!”

     The sun was setting when we got home.  We piled up our pillows at the head of the bed.  Jamie was about to grab a book when I stopped him.

      “You know how we talked about expectations this morning?” I said.  “I had a good idea.  I’ve got a test I want you to take, and I think it will help us understand each other better.”

     I’d designed a little questionnaire, trying to narrow down Jamie’s primary love language.  When he started reading the questions, though, he laughed.

      “Five love languages, right?” he asked.

      “ _Oh_ ,” I said, realizing I’d spent a good hour on something I could have just asked him about. “Do you know what yours are?”

      “Can you guess?” asked Jamie, putting his arm around me with a smile.

      “Physical affection?”  I asked.

      “Aye,” Jamie said.  “One of my top two.”

      “What’s the other one?” I asked. 

      “Guess,” said Jamie.  “Think about the day I hung out with you while you did laundry.”

      “Acts of service?” I asked. 

      “No,” said Jamie.  “Though, I dinna mind helping people.  There’s a different reason for it, though.”

      “Quality time!” I exclaimed.  “You were just hanging out while I did laundry to spend _time_ with me.”

      “Aye,” said Jamie.  “I have one more that was pretty high as well.”

      “Words of affirmation?” I guessed. 

      “Aet!” Jamie said.  “And ye do say nice things to me.  Makes me feel good,” he said.

      “Hmmm,” I said, looking at him quizzically.

      “So, let me guess yers,” Jamie said.  “Physical Affection.  Quality time.  Words of Affirmation.”

     I stared at Jamie with wide eyes. 

      “ _That’s_ why!” I exclaimed.

      “Why this feels good?” Jamie said, pointing back and forth between us.  “Why there’s just a rightness in us together?”

      “I think so,” I said.  “The things that feel loving for me to do, are things that you interpret as love,” I said.

      “So the name calling,” said Jamie, “Which is totally the opposite of affirming words, that argument killed both of us.  We canna be mean like that.”

      “And that’s why you hugged me when I needed it so much, why your holding me when Frank broke up with me just connected us that much more, and why sex matters so much to both of us,” I said.

      “I’d agree,” said Jamie. 

      “So when it comes to household chores,” I said.  “Should we divide the labor?”

      “When we need to,” said Jamie.  “For dinner tonight, ye did the rice and I got the fish, and that worked.  But I ken that we would both do best when we work together if possible.”

      “Because that means spending time together,” I said.  “So doing the dishes, doing the laundry, if we can, we should work together on it.”

      “And if we can’t,” Jamie said.  “We’d better be prepared to compliment and share appreciation after.”

      “ _Or_ be prepared to make out a little,” I said, getting off the bed.  I knelt over his legs, facing him. 

      “ _Excellent_ idea, Mrs. Fraser,” he said.  “Get prepared to feel loved, Ripālle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True story from this chapter? When I was learning Marshallese, my students told me I talked like a jidik nin͂nin͂ (chedick ning-a-ning)
> 
> So, hear me out here: My hypothesis is that the Claire and Jamie from the Outlander books both have physical affection as their primary love language. I think that's why they connect physically, why they are as sexual as they are, and why they feel like soul mates to each other. I hope you didn't mind the psychology lesson in today's chapter. I just think a modern-day Jamie and Claire might be more aware of why they connect as strongly as they do.
> 
> Physical affection and quality time happen to be my primary love languages, too. When one has different love languages than their partner, it's a little harder to connect. My husband's happen to be acts of service and words of affirmation. That's probably why Jamie Fraser is my book boyfriend--he and I would _totally_ be in sync. ;)


	30. Love Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie write letters to people they love.

* * *

 

Dear Murtagh,

     I am happy to tell ye that I’m not a virgin anymore.  Dinna fash, though, I got married first. 

     Her name is Claire, and though she’s a brash American who is clueless about many things, she’s also the first woman I’ve known who made me feel like I was seeing the best qualities of my mother again.  You ken what a wonderful woman Ellen MacKenzie was, so I hope you’ll know I’ve chosen well.  My da always said when the right woman came along, I would just know.  And I just knew it the first day I met her.  Surprisingly, she happened to be stitching up a rather large wound on my arse, but that’s neither here nor there.

     So, I’m married, and I’m no longer a virgin.  It’s a good thing I didn’t know how amazing sex was, cause I would probably have been as bad as a wild boar, rutting with every female I could.  I am grateful, though, that I didn’t; grateful for my ma’s advice and for your encouragement. 

     My wife, Claire, has said several times how delighted she is to have been my first, and how special it is to not be competing with countless other women in my mind.  Somehow I doubt that there’d be much competition—she’s generous, this one.  And hungry for contact, eager to be with me, and enthusiastic in many ways, including….you ken. I know a gentleman doesn’t talk, but suffice it to say that I can have no complaints in that department.  She can have a sharp tongue, but knowing my sister as ye do, and having known my mother, you know I’m used to quick-witted women.

     I remember you saying that Laoghaire was well enough to hang out with, but she wasn’t the kind of girl I needed to marry, and because of that I shouldna bed her.  You said I should marry a woman.  I didna ken what you meant at the time, but now I do. Because Claire is a _woman_. Intelligent, funny, interesting, and passionate.  She’s a nurse practitioner, also serving in the Peace Corps here on Arno. And through a strange set of circumstances, she ended up proposing marriage to me.  And because I am not  that much of a millennial, then I proposed to her.  J

     I mentioned she’s an American.  Her parents live on Guam—her dad is a chaplain, a major in the US Air Force, and we plan to visit there for Christmas.  She has said she wants to visit Scotland this summer.  I believe that by that time, I should have completed my community service hours, and I may be able to have my record expunged since I have not only completed my college degree but will have also taught two years by then.  I should be able to enter the country without incident, but I may need you to make certain for me.  I wouldna want to get there and not be able to see family; nor would I wish to be embarrassed in front of my wife.

     If you are able, I would so love for you to make a visit out here.  I wouldn’t be generous enough to let you stay with us, though.  A man has to have his boundaries, and may I just say, you wouldna sleep very well anyway.  J  Rupert and Angus still have my bed in their apartment, so there would be a place for you to stay. 

     As always, know you are in my thoughts often, and that when I do remember to pray, you are in my prayers.  Sometimes living out in such a beautiful place, walking and breathing are as much praying as anything.  You feel close to both nature and God.

     I miss you deeply.

Love,

Jamie

* * *

 

 

      Jamie and I sat in bed, each with a pad of paper.  Jamie wrote his tight printing with a black pen and my loopy script was in purple.

     “So, who are you writing to tonight, Ripālle?” Jamie asked.

     “My good friend Joe,” I said.  “We went through the nurse practitioner program together, and ended up both being hired at the same clinic in Boston.  Of all the people I know, he’s the one I want to tell about you the most.”

C

     “So you’d say he’s your friend, more than Frank's?” Jamie asked.

     “Oh, definitely,” I said.  “Joe and I bonded through classes and labs and practicums.  I think Frank and I may have gone out with Joe and his wife once, but they’re older than us, and they have a couple of kids.  As a couple we didn’t have much in common.”

     “I’m glad ye have a friend you can write to, though,” Jamie said, “Not just family.”  I nodded in response.

       “Who are you writing to?” I asked, peeking over at his paper.  Jamie blushed, turning the pad away from me so I couldn’t see it.

       “My godfather Murtagh,” Jamie said. “I’m telling him about you, and I’m not really ready for you to hear what I think about you.”

      I tried to overcome my extreme curiosity to know what Jamie could possibly be saying that he didn’t want me to see. “Where does Murtagh live?  How was he connected to your family?”

      Jamie set the pad of paper down.

       “Oh, I didn’t want to interrupt you,” I said.  “You just hadn’t mentioned him before.”

       “Murtagh was one of my dad’s best friends growing up.  He’s a Fraser, too, but a distant cousin.  From the way he talks about my mom, I wonder if maybe he was in love with her too.”

       “But your dad got the girl?” I asked.

       “Aye,” Jamie chuckled, “Ellen MacKenzie, fiery in both hair and temperament.”

       “And your dad?” I asked.

       “Jet black-haired Brian.  Handsome, kind, romantic.”

       “So who does your sister Jenny take after?” I asked.

       “Da’s hair, Ma’s spunky disposition.” Jamie grinned.

       “You haven’t told me, Jamie, what happened to them,” I said quietly. “You don’t have to right now, but I hope you’ll trust me enough to share that part of your life sometime.”

       “Well,” Jamie said, “Mail doesn’t go out until Monday.  I’ll have plenty of time to finish my letter to Murtagh...”  He looked down at the page.  “I’m just singing your praises,” he said bashfully.  “It’s nothing bad at all.  But he kent I was a virgin, and he’s a man, so maybe I’m sharing a little more than I want you to hear.”

      I set my paper aside as well, curled up next to Jamie, and leaned on his shoulder, but he adjusted his position to put his arm around me.  I sighed once I was leaning against his chest, and he chuckled.  “I like it, too, Ripālle,” he said. “Well, where do I begin?”

       “Maybe with the happy part,” I said.  “Tell me about your family.”

       “I grew up in the Highlands of Scotland, in a village called Elrick—it’s on the outskirts of Inverness.  Have you heard of Inverness?”

       “Can’t say that I have,” I said.  “Sorry.  Self-centered American…isn’t that your name for me?”

       “Then, have you heard of Loch Ness?”

       “Yes, that I have,” I chuckled.  “Nessy, the Loch Ness monster…”

       “Inverness is on the River Ness, and Loch Ness…”

       “Must be a _lake_ on the River Ness…” I said.  “It’s okay, Jamie.  You probably don’t know much about Guam—I’ll show it to you.  And you can show me Scotland.  Then I’ll be able to place all your stories.”

       “Aye,” he said, seeming satisfied.

       “Small town, and my da was just a small farmer, and he had a stable where he boarded and trained horses.  I learned to ride and helped him with the chores around the stable.  My ma, Ellen, she was a teacher.  I suppose that’s what made me think of teaching when the time came.  I was just used to seeing the projects my ma had planned for her students, and she would test things out on Willie and me before she tried them at school.”

       “So Jenny was two years older than you, and Willie was three years younger?”

       “Aye,” said Jamie.  “I was sixteen, and Janet was eighteen, and Willie just thirteen, when he and my Ma were killed in a car accident.  They were just driving home from school, in some torrential Scottish rain.  Sometimes it would get so bad, the wipers on the car just couldn’t wipe fast enough.  We’re not quite sure how it happened, but it was on a tight corner.  The car skidded off the road and tumbled down a steep embankment.  They both had their seatbelts on, but it wasn’t enough.  By the time the emergency services got to them, they were both gone.”

       “I’m so sorry, Jamie,” I said.  I felt, all of a sudden, like I should be holding him instead of him holding me.   But he started stroking my hair, running his fingers through the haphazard curls, and occasionally pressing his lips to my head.

      "Her hair was red, but it was curly, just like yours.  You remind me of her, a lot, Claire."

      I turned and looked at him.  His eyes were moist.  “Oh, Jamie,” I said, getting sympathy tears.  I kissed him, then settled back against him.

       “When she died, my world fell apart,” he said.  “I was a good student, hard worker, responsible son.  And I didna understand why God would let a perfect woman die.  And Willie, too.  He looked like me, ye ken, but he was the sweetest of us.  Janet and I fight and butt heads wi’ each other, but Willie didna fight.  He had a kindness in him that neither of us had.  So I didna understand.  And I was angry.”

       “Of course you wouldn’t understand.  Of course you would be angry,” I said.  “I certainly hope no one ever told you it was part of God’s plan.  I don’t think that’s ever true of death.”

       “Ye know, some did.  And that was when things turned south for me.  An angry boy fell in with some angrier, older boys.  Boys who used drugs to escape their anger and turn off the pain for a while.  Boys who needed money to support their habits, and ended up breaking and entering, and eventually, getting caught.”

       “You can’t blame yourself,” I said.  “You were young.”

       “Aye,” said Jamie.  “But I do blame myself for my dad’s death.”

       “How?” I asked.  “How _can_ you?”

       “Because at my sentencing hearing, when my da heard the charges against me read, he fell down in a faint.  And when they took him to the hospital, they found he had suffered a massive stroke, and he was gone.  I lost both parents and my brother in the course of two years.”   

      Jamie was speaking almost woodenly now, as if it was just too much for him. 

       “Jamie, can I hold you for once, please?  You’ve comforted me so many times, can’t I comfort you?” I turned, and pulled him into my arms, maneuvering us until we were lying down and he was resting his head on my chest.  I stroked his hair, whispered my own words of comfort, and let him grieve.

* * *

 

 

Dear Joe,

     When I first brought up the idea of serving in the Peace Corps, I remember you encouraging me to go, saying to me that you were tired of watching me live a half-life.  I guess I didn’t know what you meant.  Or I thought I knew what you meant, and now I really understand. My life was comfortable, familiar, sanitary, affluent, organized, and unsatisfying. 

     Coming out here to Arno was a ridiculously unsettling choice.  My first few days, I felt like I was constantly crying, whether from being overwhelmed, missing Frank, questioning my choice, or pure exhaustion from having to draw every bit of water I used from the well.  I wasn’t eating very well, either, but I’m doing much better now.

     I feel alive, Joe.  I feel useful, and needed.  And I also feel like I have no idea how to say what I have to say next.

     I am married.  And not to Frank—who broke up with me by letter about a week ago.  I met and fell in love with a red-haired giant of a man named Jamie Fraser.  He’s Scottish.  He’s an elementary school teacher, and he is…I’m afraid to say it.  I’m afraid if I spell it out, I’ll be wrong.  Or that it will all fall apart.  But I’ve been honest with you, so I guess I just better spill it.

      Jamie is my soul mate.  There it is.  Without effort, without hours of couple’s counseling and lists, and reading books together and reminders, he gives me what I need because it comes naturally to him.  And what I can give him is enough.  He’s not constantly scolding me for my irresponsibility, or making me feel like I can never live up to his standards.

     He is young.  I mean, younger than me.  Is five years a huge amount of time?  It doesn’t feel like too much.  I feel young when I’m with him.  Adventurous.  Alive.

     So I don’t know what the future holds, Joe.  While I certainly may return to working at the clinic with you, I have a husband who is Scottish and a teacher, and where we settle will depend on him, too.

     Write me soon.  Don’t use all caps or swear too much.  Remember, you were the one who told me I was living a half life.

Love ya,

Claire

* * *

 


	31. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've been married a while...it's definitely time they went on a date!

     “You seem happy today,” I remarked, as Jamie squashed me in a big hug on Wednesday morning.  He did indeed seem to be especially buoyant.  He had cheerfully made breakfast, packed us lunches, swept the kitchen floor, and even watered my garden for me. 

      “I am,” he said.  “Today is _the day_ , and I have _plans_.” 

      “You do?” I said.  I knew exactly what he meant.  I don’t think I’d ever been so glad to have my period end.  Already, I felt a sense of anticipation of freely making love with no worries or self consciousness. 

      “Aye, ye better prepare yourself to be romanced, Ripālle.”  Somehow his words made me feel all shivery inside, and he chuckled at the way I squirmed. 

      “What in the world do you mean?” I asked.

      “Well, I realized I’ve never taken ye on a date,” Jamie said.  “That didna seem right to me.  So, as I said, I have plans.” He grinned, appearing extremely proud of himself.

      “A date?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at him.  “How shall I dress for this date?”

      “I think…” Jamie pretended to be contemplating, “I think, um, dressy island wear might be appropriate.”

      “And when should I be ready for this date?” I asked.

      “Let’s say, 6 o’clock?  Half hour before sunset?” 

      “Do I need to stay out of the apartment today, or at least this afternoon?” I asked him.

      “What kind of man do ye think I am?” Jamie said, indignantly.  “I take ye on a date to our _kitchen_?”

      “It wouldn’t be horrible,” I said.  “It’s not like there are any restaurants or theatres to go to.”

      “Nah,” he said.  “I have better plans than that.”  He was giddy, and it was adorable.

     Just then there was a knock on the door.  Jamie answered it, and we saw a small boy with long black hair flopping in his eyes, shyly looking downward.  Jamie squatted down to his level so he wouldn’t look so terrifying.  The little boy spoke so quietly that I couldn’t hear him at all. 

      “Koṃṃool, Abner,” Jamie said.

      “Kon jouj,” the little boy said.  ‘Con zhush’ meant ‘ _you’re welcome’_ , if I recalled correctly.

     Jamie turned back to me.  “Looks like you may have to use sign language or the Marshallese-English dictionary today.  Sharbella has morning sickness, and Abner says she’s not going to make it for clinic today.”

      “That’s okay,” I said.  My heart had sunk momentarily, but I realized it was probably good for me. “You and Sharbella keep on teaching me words, and I made out my cheat sheet for medical terminology, anyway.  It’ll be good practice for me.”  Jamie cocked his head and smiled at me admiringly. 

     Right before he headed out the door for school, Jamie turned back to me, a playful gleam in his eye. “Just so you know, though, with all the work I’m putting into this, I’m _probably_ going to expect you to put out tonight.”

      “ _Put out_?  What decade were you born in again?  That is not gentlemanly at _all_ ,” I retorted indignantly, but then added with a suggestive smile.  “But, just so you know, I probably will be very… very… _very_... grateful.”  It made me laugh when my words appeared to make him shudder as well.  “And I imagine I will want to demonstrate my gratitude.”

     He stopped, and narrowed his eyes at me.  “Now that is not fair, Claire.  How am I supposed to make it through the school day wondering what my wife means when she says she’s going to show me her gratitude?”

      “The same way I’m supposed to make it through the day wondering what you have planned for us,” I smiled.

     Jamie had been gone about ten minutes when I looked on the kitchen counter and realized he had left his sandwiches behind.

 

     I had been struggling through my patient interviews for about an hour when there was a light tap on the clinic door.  It was Riti Botla, Jamie’s bright little student.

      “Riti!” I said.  “Are you okay?  E metak?”

      “No, Miss Peachay,” she smiled.  “Meester Shamie ask me to come help you a little.  He say translating for you will be good practice for my English.”

     I would have hugged her or at least patted her on the head in gratitude, but Jamie had recently told me (after I’d already made the mistake) that pointing at or touching people on the head is offensive in the Marshallese culture.

     Things went much more quickly with Riti’s help.  I still tried to pay attention to her questions and their answers, but it wasn’t nearly as stressful or time consuming.  A few times, an embarrassed adult would ask her to leave and we’d struggle through the words and definitions for their more grown-up issues, but in general, it was so much easier with a young translator.

     I was finishing up with my last patient when a chuckled murmur passed through the little crowd of ladies gathered under the tree in front of the clinic. 

      “Why are they laughing?”  I asked, trying to remember the Majel words.  “Kōn ta ettōñ? (et tong).  Is that right?”

      “Good, Miss Peachay!” Riti exclaimed encouragingly.  “You ask why they are laughing.  They say Meester Shamie an lukkuun ṃōkaj neōṃ ,”

      “Muh gus?” I asked.  I knew ‘loo-koon’ meant very.

      “Ṃōkaj is fast,” smiled Riti.

      “And ‘nem’?” I asked.

      “Legs,” Riti said.

      “So, they’re saying Mister Jamie has very fast legs? That he runs very fast?”

      “Ayet,” Riti answered.  “And the mamas say Meester Shamie kōṇaan ipādwaj.  He wants to be with you,” Riti was blushing, even through her tan, so I assumed there may have been some double entendres in their statement.  “Joñan wōt e maroñ…As much as he can.” I couldn’t help but smile.  We might speak different languages, but they had a good grasp on my husband’s intent.  I began to wonder whether he’d left his lunch at home on purpose.

      “Iọkwe,” the ladies started to say, getting up from their places.  “Koṃṃool tata, Miss Peachay.”

“Kon jouj,” I said, waving to them, then locking the clinic door.

 

     I felt hyper alert as I went into our cabin.  With my last glance down the road, Jamie was nearly to the clinic, loping along on his ‘muh gus nem’ towards me.  I had a feeling sandwiches might not be the first thing on the agenda; in fact, I _really_ hoped they weren’t.  I tossed my panties into the hamper just as I heard the door knob turn.

      “Well,” Jamie said, shutting the door, looking at me with a question in his eyes.

      “Well,” I said, turning to him with an inviting smile and a nod. 

      “I’m trying to make up my mind whether to do it really slowly and savor every second, or follow my instinct, which is to eat my sandwiches right here in the kitchen.”  He grinned as his joke slowly sunk in, the look on my face registering confusion as I realized what he’d said.

      “Sandwiches?” I asked dryly.  Jamie laughed, but then smiled sweetly.

      “Oh, I misspoke,” Jamie said huskily, stepping closer to me.  “To slowly savor every second of making love to my wife, or to ravish her right here in the kitchen.” 

      “How about a compromise?” I suggested, boosting myself up onto the counter behind me.  “Itok, Jamie.  Come here.”

     Jamie stepped between my knees, pushing my skirt up as he did, his hands traveling up my thighs.

      “Yer skin is so soft, Claire,” he murmured into my lips, his fingers stroking circles toward the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.

     I gasped unintentionally as he brushed his fingers against my abdomen, and Jamie drew away, eyes wide. “Ye arna wearing any panties,” he grinned, then kissed me more hungrily as he explored my wet warmth.

      “Wait,” I whispered. “Too much.  Too soon.  Make me wait.  Make me beg for it.”

      “Aye?”  He drew his hand away, circling underneath my skirt to clasp my buttocks, but stepping closer, so I could feel his hip bones pressing against my thighs.  I pulled his shirt off over his head and put my hands on his chest, warm and soft with curling hair. 

     His lips were on my neck, and I squeaked a little as he nibbled on me.

      “I think I might have you for lunch instead,” he said, chuckling with a deep rumble as I shivered at his words, meeting my lips with his and pressing himself to me as he dug his fingers into the hair at the back of my neck.  I started feeling lightheaded.

      “Jamie, oh hell, it’s time.  I can’t wait any longer,” I said, reaching down to undo his shorts.

     He stepped away from me, breathing heavily.  “Sorry,” he said, with a glint in his eye.  “We’re saving it for tonight.”

      “Really?” I said skeptically, drawing my dress off over my head. I wasn’t wearing a bra, either.

      “Oh, Christ,” Jamie said, looking at me in stunned appreciation.  “You’re right.  I dinna have that much self-control.”  He unbuttoned his shorts and dropped them to the floor.

 

     I hadn’t put makeup on since coming to the island.  Sweat and humidity made makeup uncomfortable and impermanent, and the fact that no one else wore it made it completely unnecessary. The fresh-faced look made me look younger, but the thought of a date had me bringing out the makeup bag.  It was almost shocking to see myself with mascara and eyeliner after a month without.  After that I looked through my clothes, feeling surprisingly jittery as I tried to decide what to wear, despite the fact that I was going on a date with my _husband_.  There was one slinky wrap sundress that crossed at the bust with a plunging v-neck , and I decided to skip the bra. Even though we’d already had a lunchtime quickie, I had a feeling we weren’t finished for the day.

     The hair.  That was the last, challenging, frustrating thing.  Humidity made it curl up more than ever, so I’d take to twisting it into a bun most days.  I rarely had time to fuss with it, but today, I felt like it was worth it to take the time.  I got my hair wet and pulled out my DevaCurl  from Sephora, expensive stuff that it was, and worked it through my hair.  It had a way of binding the curls together into ringlets instead of crazy frizz, giving them enough weight so they drooped down instead of standing out wildly all over the place.

     As I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt only a faint sense of recognition of the girl I saw, but I was quite confident that Jamie would appreciate my efforts.

     Six o’clock brought a knock at the door.  I hadn’t realized Jamie had taken clothes with him to school, but he was dressed in khakis and a nice shirt.  His eyes widened at the sight of me, and he smiled.  I did notice his eyes drift downward, and his face flushed slightly.

      “Itok, Ripalle,” he said, holding out his hand to me and helping me descend the steps, like we were heading down the stairway into some grand ballroom instead of our coral rock side yard.  He led me down the road to the fishing dock on the ocean side.  At the end of the dock stood a small table and two chairs, lit by hurricane lanterns set on wooden crates.  Jamie pulled out my chair for me, and shortly after we were seated, Maria came grinning down the dock carrying two plates, which she set before us with a flourish and then left. 

     On the plates were barbecued chicken, a rice and squash dish, and roasted breadfruit.  I felt shy all of a sudden, and I was grateful to have something to do with my hands, and a place to look other than Jamie’s intense gaze.

      “Tell me about yourself, Claire,” said Jamie, as if this were a first date. “What brought you out to serve in the Peace Corps? And particularly, how did you decide on the Marshall Islands?”

      “Well,” I said, after finishing the bite of food I’d just taken, also like a first awkward date. “I am a nurse practitioner. From an early age, I always thought I would serve in the Corps.  And after feeling like I was in a funk for six months, I decided that now was the time.”

      “And how did ye choose Arno?”

      “I browsed through the options, and honestly, I chose the most primitive, most remote location that happened to also be in the islands.”

      “Pardon my asking, but why would a young lady such as yourself want _primitive_ conditions?” Jamie asked. “You look mighty fancy tonight.”

      “Did I dress up too much?” If we had been in character before this, now I was definitely breaking character.  “Should I have skipped the makeup?”

      “Oh, Christ, no,” said Jamie, taking me in with his eyes.  “You look lovely, gorgeous.  I guess I just feel overwhelmed by ye, and for the first time, I realize how far up I married.”

     I scoffed.  “As long as I had crazy hair and didn’t wear makeup, you felt like we were in the same league?”

      “I wasna trying to be _insulting_ ,” he chuckled.  “It’s just, ye are a woman.  A grown person.  And next to ye, I must seem a wee child.”

      “Don’t say that,” I said.  “There are times I feel like an irresponsible baby next to you too.  No need to feel unequal.”

      “Aye, but ye look so classy!”

     I laughed.  “Come now.  You’ve met my parents.  We’re very down-to-earth people.”

      “I guess I’m not making my question clear,” Jamie said, wrinkling his forehead.  “I’m just surprised that ye ended up here.  That you _chose_ the primitive surroundings.  There are a lot of cushier Peace Corps locations.  I only ended up here because I’d gotten in trouble wi’ the law.  It’s been good for me, but I dinna ken whether I would have chosen it.”

      “I wanted the year to _count_ , if that doesn’t sound too strange,” I explained.  “It wasn’t likely that I’d be able to serve again.  If I was in a place that was just like a different city, a different America, with accents. . .that just wouldn’t have been enough.  Though I have to admit, if there had been a posting in Scotland, I might have actually considered it.”

     We were finishing with our food, and I heard a faint sound.  Turning toward the island from my seat facing the ocean, I saw a little procession of school children.  Several were playing ukuleles and guitars, and four of the little girls wore the grassy skirts of the native dancers.  They paraded shyly out onto the dock, and then performed an adorable song and dance for us.  Then, just as quickly as they had come, they disappeared into the darkness.

     The lamps still lit the area around us, but the sky had darkened, and the stars were becoming visible.  I was actually feeling a little chilled, as the cool ocean breeze rippled the water and headed toward the land.

      “Come here, Claire,” said Jamie, reaching for my hand.  He led me to the edge of the dock, where he sat down and had me sit between his legs.  The tide was low enough that our toes barely touched the water, and I leaned back against his warm chest.  He always had some extra source of heat and it radiated from him.

      “I have a gift for you,” he said.  I heard a faint rattling, and then he gently dropped a necklace over my head, lifting my hair in the back to put the cool, smooth pearls against my neck.  He kissed my shoulder as well.  I lifted the necklace to view it in the light.

      “Scotch pearls,” he said.  “Dougal brought them out for me.  They belonged to my mother, Claire.  She was one of the most precious things in my life, and so these pearls, which are one of the few things I have left of her are equally valuable.  And so are you.”

     I could barely see the pearls any more, my eyes swimming with tears, as I said, “I love you, Jamie.”

     He wrapped his arms around me.  “I love _you_ , Claire.”

      “Let’s go,” I said.  “I need you to make love to me.”

     He stood and helped me up, and we walked hand in hand back home.

 

 

  


     The door of our apartment clicked closed behind us, and we were in utter darkness.  Jamie was behind me, and with a single step forward he was close enough that I could feel his breath on my hair.  I reached toward the light switch, but Jamie stopped my hand firmly.

      “No lights.” he said. “Let’s just feel it this time.”

      “None?”  I asked. “I fixed myself up!”

      “And I can remember how lovely you look,” Jamie said.  “But I want to feel you.” As the skin on my arms pricked with goosebumps at his words, he kissed my neck, sending shivers up my spine.

      “Come on,” he said, leading me through the apartment.  Jamie had a sixth sense for his surroundings, and didn’t bump into anything, leading me safely to the side of our bed.

      “How does this dress fasten?” he asked, his hands traveling down my arms.

      “It’s a wrap dress,” I explained. “It ties in the front, and the ties wrap around.”

     Jamie’s fingers found the bow at the front, and he deftly untied it, letting the ties drop to slowly unwrap around my hips.

     It was interesting to go by feel.  Frank always wanted lights on; he needed to see me to get turned on.  I wasn’t worried about how I looked, and I was able to focus on sounds and sensations.  I found my way to the waistband of Jamie’s slacks; instead of unbuttoning them, though, I gently ran my hand down his fly.

     A sharp intake of breath told me he liked it.  I could feel how excited he was, too, which made me groan slightly.

      “Ye like that, do ye?” He asked.

      “Yes,” I whispered.  “I like knowing you want me.”

      “Oh, God, yes, I do,” he said.  I took my fingers back to the button and undid it, then unzipped his fly, taking advantage of the easier access to lightly stroke him once more.

     Jamie gently removed my hands, returning his attention to the front of my dress.  He pulled the ties loose, and with that done, gently slid the dress off my shoulders.

      “I am going to kiss every inch of your body,” Jamie murmured, laying me down on the bed.  I heard his clothing drop on the floor, and then the mattress sinking down under his weight as he knelt over me.  

     Starting at my neck, Jamie made good on his promise, kissing, licking, and nibbling my skin until I was panting and writhing  in arousal.

      “Jamie,” I begged.  “Jamie!  Please. Please.” I reached down and touched him with my  hand, which only made me gasp with anticipation.

     He lingered with his lips at my breast, slowly lowering his body onto mine, his abdomen between my legs.  Then I heard a chuckle.

      “Why are you laughing, Jamie?” I asked.  “Are you taking pleasure in torturing me?

      “No,” he  whispered huskily, “Its just, I can actually feel how much you want me.”

      “What?” I asked, slightly disturbed.

      “You are very…” he kissed my  breast, “very…” moving upward, he nuzzled my throat, “very…” he kissed me on the lips “wet.”  With that, he thrust solidly into me. 

     I cried out, and Jamie froze.  “I’m sorry, Claire,” he said. “Have I hurt ye?”

      “No,” I urged.  “Don’t stop! Please! Keep going!”

     I gripped Jamie with my thighs, shuddering with my own climax, moving with him until I had felt and heard him reach his own.

     Jamie collapsed on me, with a final gasp of amazement.  “Claire,” he groaned, “that was incredible.”

      “Darn it, Jamie,” I said in faux irritation.  “I have a policy of _never_ sleeping with someone on a first date.”

      “Well, I _am_ your husband,” he reasoned.

      “Guess I’ll have to forgive myself,” I chuckled, tucking myself into the comforting crook of Jamie’s arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I purposely chose primitive when I went as a volunteer teacher to Arno. There were plenty of cooler, cushier places (Scotland, for example!) but I wanted to break out of my comfort zone. No running water? Sign me up. No electricity? Awesome. And though the culture shock was extreme, and the first weeks of adjusting to our new life somewhat stressful, I was so blessed by the decluttered life I experienced. Wish I could take my sons someplace like that—get them to unplug, just go snorkeling and play on the beach. . .


	32. Getting Settled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire settle into a routine.

     We had fallen asleep in the nude, with Jamie’s arm heavy over my side, his left hand cupped around my breast.  In the middle of the night, Jamie pressed up against me, quickly making it very clear what was on his mind.

      “Jamie,” I whispered.

      “Hmmm?” He grunted back.

      “Are you asleep?” I asked him.

      “I thought I was,” he said sleepily, nuzzling my neck, “But my body seems to think otherwise.”

      “Oh.  Sorry.  I thought you were trying to start something,” I whispered back, realizing that by waking him up, I was the instigator.  “Go back to sleep.”

      “How can I, wi’ your beautiful body next to me?” he groaned, moving even closer to me.  “It’s like, we’ve barely finished before I want ye again.  I’d have ye now, if ye said yes.”

     I chuckled.  Truth be told, his nearness, the way his leg hair brushed against my bottom, his chest met my shoulder blades, and his erection pressed against my tailbone, I wasn’t feeling very sleepy either.  When he kissed the tender hollow of my shoulder, breathing heat across my skin pricking up the tiny hairs, and then began to caress my breast, I felt completely awake. 

     I rolled toward him.  “Yes,” I whispered.

      “Ifrinn, tha,” he breathed, pulling me toward him.

      “What’s that mean?” I breathed.

      “Hell, yes,” he chuckled, meeting my lips with urgent lips and tongue.

 

     Being married to a young, amorous virgin was eye-opening, to say the least.  I’d always felt that sex two or three times a week was sufficient with Frank.  And it had been stressful to feel like I needed to climax every time with him, so as long as we achieved that level of frequency, I could be satisfied with a couple of orgasms a week.

     Jamie woke something up in me.  My brain might say, “Oh, I’ve already had sex today.  One time is plenty.”  But my body plainly disagreed, as I was walking around with the female equivalent of a constant boner.  It didn’t matter what I was doing, what I was thinking about, or whether I’d just been sleeping; if Jamie put his hands on me, swept my hair aside and kissed my neck, or just suggested with his eyes that he’d like to see me naked, I was powerless to resist him.

     The days began to fall into a semblance of routine.  Jamie’s morning desire often acted as a pleasantly affectionate and arousing alarm clock, followed by shower and breakfast.  Sometimes we would pack lunches, but if we hadn’t been intimate in the morning, Jamie would head out the door with a grin, saying, “See you at lunchtime.”  The day was filled with patients, and if none came, research or charting.  I made sure I was home at lunch, and then in the afternoon I tried to get in a well child home visit or two each day, trying to walk in one direction or the other—towards Matolen or toward Jabo.  And in the evening, we would eat dinner, walk together, write letters, make love, and then sleep.

 

     On our second weekend of marriage, we did laundry together, went spear fishing, showered, and then lazed around in bed all afternoon, alternating between intimacy and sleep.  We aired out the house with an hour to go until dinner time, while Jamie made pizza dough, and then we had Angus and Rupert over for dinner, finishing up by playing a rousing game of Five Crowns at the kitchen table.  Having never played before, I reached the massive score of 340 (low is best), and good-humoredly suffered through the jibes about the inferior female mind.

     Sunday morning, Rupert and Angus proudly arrived at our apartment hauling a couch, if you could call it that.  They had taken the boards from a pile of pallets on the fishing dock and nailed them into a couch-like shape.  Then they had filled a variety of copra bags with the fibers from the inside of coconut husks.  After that, they’d taken one of their old bed sheets, draped it over the stuffed bags, and nailed it into the frame.  It took up a place of honor on one section of wall close to the kitchen table, and after sitting on it, I realized it was actually a nice addition to our home.  Though I thought as soon as possible, it would be good to reupholster it with real cushions.

     That evening, Jamie and I hung out on the couch, Jamie lying on his back with his head in my lap as he read to me.  I loved playing with his vibrant ginger curls, and he practically purred like a cat while I did it.

     I nearly had a heart attack when the author mentioned a syringe.  “Jamie!” I gasped.  He sat bolt upright.

      “What?” he exclaimed.

      “Sorry,” I said.  “I just keep forgetting to have the birth control discussion with you.”

     Jamie lowered his eyebrows.  “I thought we decided that was your choice and your business,” he said.

      “No,” I said, “We realized that birth control was about more than birth control.  I think we’d be able to have a civilized discussion now.”

      “But,” he interjected, lying back down again. “It is your body.  I dinna have a right to tell ye what to do.”

      “You do,” I said, stroking his forehead.  “Because this is your marriage.”

      “Hmmm,” he said.  “Well, can ye lay out our options, then?”

      “So, I could use Depo Provera.  It’s a progesterone shot that lasts about three months.  After a time of using it, it can actually cause periods to stop temporarily.”

     Jamie couldn’t hide a small smile.  “I canna say I dinna like that,” he said.  “But what are the other side effects.”

      “It can cause abdominal pain, weight gain, acne, mood changes, bloating, and osteoporosis,” I said.

      “And then, how does it affect fertility?”

      “Well, fertility can take time to return, even after it’s supposed to be finished.  Anywhere from six months to two years.”

      “And, what has yer experience with birth control been?” Jamie asked.  “Have ye had those side effects?”

      “Different ones,” I said, “I used birth control pills, and I’m not sure why, but they made sex painful for Frank and me.  I didn’t know that was why until I stopped using birth control.”

     Jamie’s eyebrows were low, and he was obviously thinking furiously.  “Well, I dinna like that,” he said.  “I couldna have fun knowing it would hurt you.”

      “I mean, Depo Provera might not, but since it lasts for three months, it would be a risk we’d have to take if we chose it.”

      “What other options do we have?”

      “Condoms,” I said.

      “Where would we get those?” he asked.  “I wouldna want to ask Dougal to buy some and send them out here.”

      “I…have some,” I said.  Jamie made a face at me. “I didn’t _plan_ to have sex with anyone,” I said, “but Frank thought I’d have trouble staying faithful to him, and I didn’t want to risk an STD.”

      Jamie sat up and stared at me.  “Okay, stop with the judgment, Virgin,” I said.

      “Dinna call me names, Ripālle,” Jamie said, putting his arm around me.  “I ken how hard it would be to stop after ye’d had sex.  I’m more surprised at Frank.  Did he really say that to ye?  That he thought ye couldna be faithful?”

     I nodded.  “And in some ways, he was right.  I fell in love with you before he broke up with me.”

      “But ye didna do anything wi’ me,” Jamie insisted.

      “Well, ye didna try anything wi’ me,” I said back, trying to mimic his Scots accent.  He squeezed me to him.

      “So, Ripālle, none of these sound good.  Do ye want to have kids?”

      “I always have, yes,” I said. “And I _am_ 27.”

      “Well, I just ken I want to _make_ babies,” joked Jamie.  “Whether or not I have kids doesna matter.”

      “No, Jamie, really,” I said.  “What do you want?  You’d mentioned giving it some time—six months or a year.  I left Frank behind, completely realizing I was putting off pregnancy for 18 months to two years, at least.”

     Jamie took my hand and held it in both of his.  “Honest truth?  I don’t want any of those side effects at all.  If we were to have a baby, that would be a pretty beautiful side effect.  In fact, that’s the only one that makes me feel good inside.”

      “So,” I said.  “No birth control? Will that make you want me less?”

      “I dinna think so,” said Jamie, standing up and taking me by the hand.  “Thank you for asking me, though, Claire.”  A small smile played about his lips.  “Do ye trust me more, now?”

      “Yes, Jamie,” I said, stepping into his embrace.  “I do.”

 

     On Monday at noon, Jamie came dashing through the door, flushed from his noon sprint.

      “Jamie,” I giggled.  “You’re so obvious. What excuse are you using with Rupert and Angus for leaving at lunch time?  Surely telling them you forgot your lunch only worked once.”

      “Oh,” Jamie said blandly, “I just tell them _Claire_ wants us to eat lunch together.  That ye miss me when I’m away.”  His eyes sparkled and he tried to hide his grin as he started hiking my skirts up and guiding me toward the bed.

      “So you’re blaming it on me, then?”  I laughed through his eager kisses, as I undid his shorts button and zipper.  “Do they believe you?”

      “Not a chance,” Jamie exclaimed, gripping the sides of my panties with his hands and pushing them downward.  “Especially when I say, ‘Claire gets really _really_ hungry at lunchtime.” 

      “You did _not_ say that!” I exclaimed indignantly.  Jamie lowered me to the bed and slipped my panties off the rest of the way.  I propped myself up on my elbows.  “That’s not fair.  I won’t be able look them in the eyes now!”

      “Aye?” Jamie asked, kneeling by the bed, placing his hands on my hips, and quickly making it clear that _I_ was on the menu.  “Do ye want me to stay at school for lunch time, then?”  He gently kissed my knee, and then traveled up my inner thigh.

      “No,” I squeaked, lying on my back, eyes wide open.  “It’s fi…IIne!”  

 

 

     Just before sunrise on Tuesday morning, I woke up with a strange feeling of foreboding in my gut.  I’d forgotten to draw water for my shower, so I was about to head out to the well, wearing my regular night time attire of shorts and tank top.

      “Claire,” Jamie said, seriously, “Ye will not go outside wearing that.”

      “What?”  I asked.  “It’s dark.  No one is going to see me.”

      “Someone might.  It’s disrespectful to the culture, and I am telling you that you will not go outside wearing only that.”

      “It’ll be five minutes.  I’ll be out and back,” I said, about to head out the door.

      “Claire.”  He spoke forcefully, and this time he got out of bed and stood to his full height.  “Put on a dress.”

      “I know you’re my husband, Jamie, but are you _really_ trying to tell me what to do?”

      “Aye,” he said, stepping forward.  Damn, he really was big. And muscular.  And he wasn’t wearing any clothes.  I put my hand on the doorknob.

      “Claire,” he said.  “This is the last time.”

      “What are you going to do about it?” I scoffed, “You think you’re my boss?  Think again.”

      “Well,” he said, “Ye arna very big, and I believe I could throw you over my shoulder.”

      “You wouldn’t,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly.

      “Test me,” he said, coming up to me with one final step.

     I was pretty sure I knew what would happen if he lifted me and put me over his shoulder, and it involved nudity and a bed.  I didn’t have time for that, though the repartee was stirring something in me.  “Jiddik Niñniñ,” I muttered, reaching over to our closet to grab the loose sleeveless sundress I typically used for going out to the shower.

      “I’m a tiny baby?” Jamie responded.  “Huh.  Ye didna seem to think I was so tiny last night.  In fact, I think I heard ye groaning something quite the opposite when you were on top of me.”

     Just the memory had me going to jelly inside, but I tried to steel my expression and head out the door. When I turned and saw Jamie’s face, though, I thought I might in trouble.  When I glanced about three feet lower, I _knew_ I was.

      “Itok, Ripālle,” said Jamie huskily, reaching his hand toward me.

      “I’ve got to get to work on time,” I complained, though I knew it was an empty argument.  There was no such thing as “on time” in the islands.  A half hour, an hour late—it was still considered fine in the laidback Marshallese culture.

      “It won’t take very long,” Jamie assured me.  “I’m ready, and I ken ye will be too, the way my voice keeps making ye shudder and wriggle like that.”

     He took my hand, and drew me toward the bed.

      “Kwon itok ippa, Ripālle.  Come wi’ me.”

     I sighed, rolled my eyes, and followed him.

      “It’s not fair, Jamie,” I said, when he had had his way with me and I was resting in his arms, flushed and satiated.  “I’m _powerless_ against you.  You have the advantage.  You make me feel so weak.” I was actually teary; not angry, exactly, but frustrated.  I wiped away a tear with a perturbed fist.

     Jamie propped himself up on his elbow and looked down into my eyes.  “Oh, Claire,” he said, “Do ye not know how much power you have?  You could break me with a word.  If you denied me yerself, I would shrivel up and die.  My mind is filled with ye all day, and any time I wake, yer the first thing I think of.  I want you, yes.  And I can rouse ye,” he smiled.  “But as for power, Ripālle?  I have none.”  He crushed me to him, kissing me on the forehead. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _Chapter Notes_  
>  **  
>  _: Played Five Crowns over Christmas with family. Fun game--but I was horrible my first time. It made me realize that in a low-tech environment, they would probably play games for amusement. Way more social and mentally stimulating._
> 
>  
> 
> _Jamie's "I want to make babies" comes from one of my friend's high schoolers. He announced to his mother, a nurse and lactation specialist, that he wanted to make babies. "You want to have kids?" she asked. "You're really young for that."_
> 
>  
> 
> _"Oh, I don't want to **have** kids," he said, grinning. "I want to **make babies**."_


	33. The American

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You don't know what you've got until it's gone..._

    “Don’t worry about it, Claire,” Jamie urged, out of breath.  We’d gotten distracted mid-way through our afternoon letter writing, and Jamie was currently practicing his bra-removal skills.  But the persistent knock continued, and the little female voice kept calling out “Miss Peachay!”

     “It’s no use, Jamie,” I said, extracting myself from bed and pulling my bra the rest of the way out of the arm holes of my dress.  “I can’t focus right now.”  Jamie quickly re-wrapped himself in his sarong and sat back down on the bed as I walked over and opened the door, to find little Adina, the little girl who belonged to Plurose and Randy, our other next-door neighbors.

     “Amedkan come,” the little girl said. 

      “What do you need?” I asked in Marshallese.

      “Amedkan atok,” she said, pointing down the road.

      “You want me to come?” I asked.  I was ready to reach for my shoes.

      “No,” Jamie corrected me casually, looking up from the book he had picked up.  “She’s saying an American _is coming_.”

      “I just can’t get the grammar straight,” I laughed.  “What American?”  I asked, turning back to the little girl. “Won en ej atok?”

      “A man,” she said.  “He look for _Claire Beauchamp,_ ” she said, enunciating all the sounds.  “That you, Miss Peachay, right?”

      “Who is he?” I asked.  “E metak?  Is he hurt?”

      “No, he no hurt.  He say him name Prank.”

     “Prank?” 

      “She can’t mean Frank, can she, Ripālle?”

     I felt like I’d been punched in the gut, like I was going to vomit; nauseated and terrified and guilty.  “ ** _Frank_** is here?  Why is Frank _here_?”

     I looked out in the road, and I saw him, walking with his familiar lanky stride, looking around curiously. He appeared to be in no huge rush, but he saw me, and he lifted up his hand in a wave, a wide smile brightening his face.

     Jamie had come over and was standing behind me.  He put his hands on my shoulders.

      “Oh, my God, Jamie,” I said.  “Stay here.”

     I descended the three steps and walked toward Frank as quickly as I could. He didn’t have a suitcase with him. He was wearing a hat, loafers, shorts, and a tropical print shirt. What a ripālle, I thought with a chuckle, and then I felt sick again.

      “Claire!” Frank exclaimed, rushing to me.  He put his arms around me and bent to kiss me; I turned my cheek to him.

      “Why are you here, Frank?” I asked, though I already knew why.

      “Claire,” he said, holding me about the waist.  “I am so sorry. I was _such_ an asshole.”

     I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I stood there dumbly, my heart pounding.  Back in the house behind me was my husband of 12 days; in front of me my fiancé of 5 years. Well, ex-fiancé.  No matter what happened, this was not going to end pretty.

      “It was a shitty thing to do, breaking our engagement.  I’m so sorry.” He suddenly looked worried, as if perhaps I didn’t even know why he was there.

      “Oh, yeah, I got your break-up letter,” I said. “And I’m assuming the reason you’re here, having travelled thousands of miles, is that you got _my_ letter?”

      “Claire,” he said.  I looked into his repentant, familiar eyes, and my heart broke.  “When I got your letter, I realized I couldn’t wait for another letter to get to you, and then for your response to get back to me.  I needed to talk to you.  I needed to _see_ you.”

      “Frank, I love you,” I said.  “And I have loved you for years, but…”

      “Babe,” he said earnestly, “if you were serious in your letter, and I think you were…” He took my hand. “I’m here to ask you two questions.”

     I started shaking my head, whether in disbelief or to try to stop what was coming next.  I turned toward the apartment, and Frank walked with me.

      “Will you please come home?” he asked, reaching to take my hand as we walked side by side.  “Life just isn’t right without you.”  He pulled us to a stop, turned to me, and looked in my eyes, “And will you please let me finally exchange your engagement ring,” he lifted my hand, kissing my fingers, “for a wedding ring?” 

     How did he not notice the horrified expression on my face?  “It’s _too_ _late_ , Frank,” I said.

      “How can it be too late, Claire?”  Frank responded, clasping my hand to his chest.  “I’ve never known you to hold a grudge before.  In your letter, you said you recognized how wrong this choice had been—that it was cruel and selfish to leave me.  How is it too late?”

     I shook my head.  I was trembling.  “You’re _too late,_ ” I repeated, gesturing up at the door of our apartment, where Jamie stood, arms crossed over his muscular chest like a red-haired bouncer at a tiki bar.

      “Who the hell is that?” asked Frank.

      “That’s… _Jamie_ ,” I said, in a tone that said of course Frank should know who he was.

      “Who the hell is Jamie?” Frank asked, looking up at Jamie, shirtless, sarong-clad.  Realization started to flush over his face.  He looked at me, then back at Jamie.

     Now Frank looked as horrified as I was feeling. “Damn, Beauchamp, you can’t keep it in your pants, can you?”

      “You will not talk to my wife like that,” said Jamie, taking a step down the stairs, his eyes glinting blue and angry.

     Frank stared at Jamie, open-mouthed.  “You are fucking kidding me.  Tell me he’s kidding me.” He turned to me again, eyes wide.  “You got _married_?” I stood there dumbly, still astonished that he was on Arno, that he was next to me.

      “When?  _When_ did you get married?”

      “You broke up with me, Frank,” I started.

      “ _When_ did you get _married_?” he repeated, desperation creeping into his voice.

      “A week and a half ago,” I said. 

      “You _just_ wrote me, Claire.  I _just_ got a letter from you five days ago where you asked me to forgive you and you told me that I was the most important thing in the world to you.  I found someone to teach my courses, made plane and hotel reservations, and headed out here. Explain yourself, please.”  Frank’s jaw clenched, and a blood vessel in his temple was visibly throbbing.

     I couldn’t think clearly, but I tried to get some words out.  “Almost two weeks ago I sent that letter in the morning; your break-up letter came that evening. I was devastated, but your choice was clear.  I didn’t have any reason to believe you would change your mind.”

      “That still doesn’t explain it,” Frank insisted.  “I _still_ don’t understand it.  I broke up with you, and you got MARRIED?  I broke up with you, and days later you get fucking married?”  He was shaking his head in astonishment, staring at me with disgust.

      “It’s not that simple, Frank,” I said.

      “No?  It could have been _way_ simpler, Claire.  Couldn’t you just suck his dick or let him fuck you without having to _marry_ him?”  The words had barely gotten out of Frank’s mouth when a ruddy blur passed me on my left and Frank was on his back on the ground, Jamie shaking his hand in pain, standing beside me.

      “I _said_ ,” he intoned fiercely, towering over Frank, “Ye canna talk to my wife like that.”

      “You bastard,” said Frank, pushing himself to a seated position and wiping blood from his nose.  “She’s only been here for weeks.  She and I have been together for years.  You have _nothing_ in comparison to what we had.  You’re taking advantage of a woman who’s suffering from culture shock.”

      “Seems to me, yer the one taking advantage of the woman,” Jamie said sternly.  “Keeping her hanging on, not marrying her, year after year.  A woman deserves stability and commitment.  You werena willing to provide it for her.  I am.”

      “I’m right here, dammit!” I exclaimed. 

     Frank was working on standing up.  Jamie offered him his hand, and Frank warily grabbed it, stood, took two steps back, and then said, “Would it be possible to talk to you, Claire, without this ginger giant punching me in the face?”

      “I just helped ye up, man,” said Jamie, scoffing.  “I’m no a monster. If you can keep yerself civil, ye needna worry about any more violence.”  He looked at me.  “Do ye want me to stay, Claire, or would you like me to give the two of ye a chance to talk?”

      “Thanks, Jamie,” I said.  “I think it would probably be better if you weren’t here.”

      “Do ye want the apartment?”  Jamie asked.  “I can go visit Angus and Rupert.  Or catch fish for supper.”

      “Supper,” I said, thankful for his forethought.  I turned to Frank excitedly.  “The fish here is the best stuff ever.  Better than any seafood restaurant you’ve ever been to.” 

     I realized how quickly my sense of familiarity towards him had come back, but Frank did not look equally warm and welcoming.

      “I don’t want to visit you in the apartment where you’ve been fucking this man,” hissed Frank. 

     “ _Stop_ , Frank,” I said.

      “Making love with…her husband,” corrected Jamie, his hand on my back a centering source of calm.  He looked fierce, riled up, and angry, but he was gentle with me even in his fierceness.

      “Please,” I said quietly, urging Jamie back into the apartment. 

      “ _Husband_ ,” scoffed Frank.  “What do you do to get married out here?  Run around a coconut tree three times and throw some sand over your shoulder?

      “No,” said Jamie, stopping in the doorway and turning back to us, a clear look of confidence and a vindictive glint in his eyes.  “Claire’s parents came over from Guam, and Jeff married us.”  I winced at his words, knowing how much they would wound Frank.  He hadn’t even said, ‘her dad,’ or ‘Major Beauchamp.’

     Frank turned to me.  “The Major married the two of you?  Your mom and he approved?” He was dumbfounded, and stood there, mouth gaping like a fish.  Suddenly a light came on in his eyes.  “You’re pregnant,” he exclaimed.

      “No one gets married just because they get pregnant anymore,” I said.  “And, no.”

     Before he closed the door, Jamie raised his eyebrows at me.  “You okay?” he mouthed.  I nodded.

 

      “Shall we sit?” I asked.  I would have taken Frank’s hand and led him, but I couldn’t touch him right now.  I walked toward the iar, leading us to the grassy area above the beach.  I tucked up my skirts and sat, leaving a spot for Frank next to me.  He wouldn’t sit, though, and stood staring out at the gorgeous turquoise lagoon.

      “Claire,” he said, closing his eyes, breathing slowly.  “What the _fuck_?”

     I shook my head.  “Go ahead, Frank, talk,” I said. “I can’t even think right now.”

      “Seven years, Claire. Seven years.”  Frank stared out toward the islands on the other side. “We weren’t married, no, but I was committed. Did it really matter so much to you that we weren’t married, that you run into the arms of this infant?”  He saw the look on my face.  “Sorry.  I’ll try not to be insulting.  What _happened_?”

      “It wasn’t just that we weren’t married, Frank,” I said. “You broke up with me.” I looked at him, hoping he could read my heart.  “I don’t hate you, but you were _cruel_.  And those had already been my hardest few days out here, even before I read your letter.  Who was I supposed to run to but Jamie? He was my best friend out here.”

      “But, marry him?” Frank said.  “Did you not still see a chance for us?”

      “Your letter left me in little doubt that you didn’t.”

      “Still,” Frank was shaking his head in bewilderment.  “People don’t get married that fast.  They date. They get to know each other.  They get intimate.”

      “I was going to be fired,” I said, “because I spent the night at Jamie’s house. It went against Peace Corps cultural guidelines, and the head wanted to send me home.”

      “So, I broke up with you, you slept with him, got in trouble for it, and then you married him?”

      “I didn’t sleep with him,” I insisted.  “Whatever you think of him, he’s not like that.”

      “You expect me to believe that some hot young guy like that wouldn’t take advantage of a beautiful woman who needs comfort?”

      “He was a virgin when we got married, Frank,” I stated quietly.

     Frank seemed truly taken aback.  “You had never slept with him and you married him?  So this is like a green card marriage, isn’t it?  You just married him to save yourself.  So, get the damn marriage annulled, and come home and marry me.”  He started walking toward the road and I followed him.

     I was feeling confused.  Seeing Frank was bringing back countless memories of years together.  Vacations, dinners with friends, both of us pursuing our educations, homework at the kitchen table.  Cuddling on the couch, shared secret jokes, making love, arguments, resolutions.  Six New Year’s Eve kisses, six Christmases, four engagement anniversaries, countless times sitting in the bathroom together while we waited three minutes for results.  Shared purchases, shared pictures, musicians we both liked, concerts we’d attended.  _I didn’t even know what kind of music Jamie liked_.  I felt like I was going to hyperventilate.

      “I need to think,” I said, finally. 

      “Well, I feel like a fool,” said Frank turning back toward me as we reached the white gravel of the road.  “But I’m not leaving until we really talk this through.  I’m going to walk back to the Iroij’s house, where the truck dropped me off.  We will wait for you for an hour, then we’re going to go back to my hotel in Arno Arno.   Come and meet me, pack a bag and you can stay with me if you want. The room has two twin beds. We need to talk about this in a place where I don’t feel like he’s staring at me.”"

 

     I watched Frank walk away, fell on my knees, and vomited in the grass.

      “Mo ghràidh,” Jamie said.  He was holding me in his arms, running his fingers through my hair. He helped me stand up, and then he lifted me, carried me into our apartment, lay me down on the bed and curled himself behind me, wrapping me in his arms.

     I pulled away, stood up, and peeled off my clothes. “Make love to me please, Jamie,” I begged. “I feel like I’m going to break.”

     Jamie looked pained, though he did unwrap his sarong and pulled it over us as he curled up with me. “Wait just a minute,” he said, as I reached for him.  “What's in your heart right now? What has he said?  What have you decided?”

      “I can't talk, Jamie, please,” I said. He understood me then, and gently moved over me, whispering and caressing me, until I urged him inside.  Even then he moved inexorably gently; but slowly both of us started to move with more desperation, as if trying to convince ourselves that we were still together, still okay.  Even when we finished I clung to him, not letting him go.

      “Claire, you’re crying,” Jamie whispered.  “What do your tears mean?”

      “I don’t know,” I sobbed.

      “Your tears tell me you feel guilty and torn.   You’re afraid that yer going to hurt one of us or the other.  Ye canna base yer choice on not wanting to hurt anyone.   It's impossible. And Frank’s right, ye ken.  He has a far greater claim on you.  Ye might actually be married in the eyes of God.  Here, too,” he said, with a faint hand gesture indicating the island. “Common law marriage is accepted, expected even.  Sometimes young couples don’t get married until they have a child.”

      “But, Jamie,” I protested.  “We have something special together. How can you say I should even consider leaving you, losing this?”

      “It’s a kind of _affair_ ,” said Jamie.  “Affairs often feel good and special.  And ours is a hallowed, blessed, _married_ affair, but an affair nonetheless.  I confess I wanted ye.  So bad I was blind to the truth that it might not truly be over with Frank.  So selfish I would keep ye here; tie ye down.  I should have sent ye back.  Or at the least,” he smiled wryly, “encouraged ye to take yerself home.  I ken by now yer a woman that willna be ruled by a man.  But perhaps you should have waited, or gone back to Frank—to see what was salvageable.”

      “Maybe,” I said.  “Maybe I should have given it more time. But I didn’t have that time if I wanted to stay here.”

      “Claire,” said Jamie, holding me closer. “Ye have to stop justifying it and truly think—have ye made a mistake?”

      “ _This_ is not a mistake, Jamie,” I wept.  “ _We_ are not a mistake.  And we’re married, anyway.  That’s a legal contract.”

      “I've been thinking, and there is a way out for you,” said Jamie.  “You didna enter this marriage truly thinking we would have children.  And if ye also entered the marriage without the intent of eternal commitment, it can be annulled by the Catholic Church.  The Catholic marriage covenant is taken when both parties enter with the commitment to be together forever, with an openness to creating new life.”

      “Jamie,” I said.  “I don’t…I can’t…”

      “Claire, ** _I_** need you to go to Arno Arno with Frank.  You need to talk to each other, far enough away from me that ye don’t feel the burden of this place where we connected, and that Frank doesna feel the pressure of my presence.”

      “But…”

      “If you choose me, then come home.  If you decide to go back to the States with Frank, send word.  I will pack up your things and send them to you on Majuro, or to Boston.  Dinna come back.  I canna imagine my heart could stand seeing you again.”

      “But, Jamie,” I interjected.

      “You need to decide with a clear mind, Claire. Now that ye know Frank wants ye still, ye must make the choice knowing both that I love you, _and_ that Frank wants you, too.  And he has the greater claim.”

      “What if I don’t want to?”

     Jamie leveled his gaze at me, grasping me by the shoulders. “I canna stay married to ye in good conscience if you don’t at least think this through. I dinna want you to resent me in years to come for holding you back.  But Claire, I love you more than anything.  And I vowed to love you forever.”  He closed his eyes, then, and leaned his forehead to mine.  “I dinna want to lose you,” he whispered, “but I love you enough to let you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _Chapter Notes:_  
>  **  
>  _My current husband (well, my only husband...my husband currently...or just...my husband?...well, as opposed to my TV and book husband, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser) was my boyfriend at the time of my year overseas. He was great at regularly writing letters to me, and I wrote to him, but at times it felt very frustrating to know that mail would take a week to get to him, and then a week to get back to me. I wouldn't receive a response to any of my thoughts for two entire weeks, and by the time I did hear back (about something that felt incredibly important at the time), it was just too late._


	34. The Hotel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's time to make a decision. What matters most?_

     Frank and I didn’t talk on the trip to Arno Arno. 

 

     Jamie had packed my suitcase for me as I sat dumbly on our bed.  A couple of dresses, panties and bras, a swimsuit, shorts and tank tops.  As I watched, Jamie had hesitated in front of the dresser. “What do you wear to bed with him?” he asked quietly.  My heart nearly broke.

      “Don’t make me go, Jamie,” I begged.

      “I’m no _making_ ye go,” said Jamie.  “It is yer choice.  But ye’d regret it if ye didna go.”

      “Jamie, we are married now,” I said.  “Shouldn’t that trump everything else?”

      “Claire,” Jamie said quietly.  “Think about it.  Would ye have married me if Frank hadna broken up wi’ ye?”

      “Not a fair question, Jamie,” I said, shaking my head in distress.

      “Isn’t it?  Just because I ken the answer, doesna mean it’s a bad question to ask.  Because now he’s taken it back,” Jamie said.  “Now he doesna _want_ to be broken up.  And now ye need to decide—do ye want to not be married? 

     I shook my head sadly.  I knew he was right; I had to think it through and truly make a choice.

     I winced at the memory, and turned away from Frank so he couldn’t see my tears.  _Jamie would have seen,_ I thought.  _He would have moved next to me.  He would be holding me by now._

     I looked out across the vivid blue water of the lagoon, thinking about how Jamie had stuck in my snorkeling gear.  “Ye should take him snorkeling,” he’d said.  “Give him a taste of the islands since he’s come out here.”

      “Who are you?” I asked him.  “Frank’s trying to steal me away from you!”

      “Lass,” Jamie said, an ironic smile on his face, “I canna fault the man, and I really canna hate him.  He saw the same thing in ye that I have, and he’s finally acting as I thought he should this whole time.  _I’d_ follow ye to the gates of hell, ye ken,” he said, shrugging.

      “Just to the gates?” I asked, unable to let a joke pass by.

      “Well, ye dinna think I need to enter hell to _experience_ it, do ye?” Jamie asked, turning away from me, choking out the last few words.  I had gone to him then, wrapping him in my arms and crying with him.  We held each other then in a rocking dance of goodbye. 

     I had suddenly noticed my clutter everywhere, and I had cleaned compulsively, putting everything back in order, straightening the bed, putting books back on the shelf.  I even organized the shoes, matching each pair and putting them next to each other by the door, Jamie’s worn flip-flops, my sandals, the tennis shoes Jamie had started taking to school so he could jog home at lunch.  I couldn’t rid myself of the lump in my throat.

     With ten minutes to spare, I stood next to my suitcase at the door. We were both red-eyed. I was panicky, breathing heavily; I felt like I was going to throw up again.

     I had put my hand on the doorknob when Jamie let out a gutteral, “No, Claire!”  He pulled me into his arms, clinging to me, pressing me to his heart.

      “I canna let ye go yet,” he wept.  He lifted me and carried me to the kitchen counter.  I needed him, he needed me; we both knew it.  With my panties hanging around my  ankles, he dropped that damn sarong on the floor and took me.  No foreplay, just his mouth desperately on mine, and him filling me, claiming me.  Jamie couldn’t say it, but his body shouted, “Mine!” and mine groaned back, “Yes, yours!”

      “Harder, Jamie,” I begged.  He lifted me, lay me down on the wood floor.  With the increased leverage of his weight and gravity, Jamie obeyed me, driving himself into me until the sensations removed anything from my mind but him.  I couldn’t tell when it started, so lost in the urgent ‘us,’ but when Jamie cried out, I was already clenching and spasming around him.

     Jamie offered me a towel when he finally pulled himself away, but I rebelliously pulled my panties back up, as if insisting ‘You own me, and here’s the evidence.’

     He had clutched me to him for one final embrace.  “I love you,” I had sobbed.

      “I love _you_ ,” he had insisted, eyes wet as well.

     Jamie picked up my suitcase and carried it for me the half mile to the Iroij’s house in Ine, almost until we reached the truck.  Then he stopped, and turning toward me, took my face in his hands, kissed me, and then leaned his head against mine.  With one final firm kiss, he urged me on and watched as I walked away. 

 

     Turning back to the truck bed I sighed, seeing Frank’s loafers.  I glanced up at him then.  He was watching me, eyebrows lowered.

      “Are you okay, Claire?” He asked. “It’s just to talk.  I’m not kidnapping you.”

     I wanted to throw myself off the truck and start walking back home, but I’d promised Jamie I would go through with it.  I would talk.  I would listen to what Frank had to say.  And then I would decide.

     The nine miles to Arno Arno took a half hour to drive.  With the ruts and bumps, speedy travel was impossible.

     The hotel was a very plain little box-like building.  Frank carried my suitcase in for me, and we climbed the stairs to a stark room with a kitchenette and three single beds, made up with plain white sheets.  My first thought was, “Oh, Jamie could have come.”  Incredibly it had flush toilets and an actual shower.

      “I’m not ready to talk, yet,” I said.  “Would you like to go snorkeling?  We have probably an hour until sundown."

     I pulled my swimsuit and swimshorts out of my suitcase and retreated to the bathroom to change.  (The ugliest swimsuit, I noticed with a grin, the one that didn’t show _any_ cleavage— _and_ the longest shorts).  When I came out, Frank was just pulling up his shorts.  He turned, and I commented without thinking, “Oh, have you been working out?”  His chest and abdominal muscles had lost a certain portion of their academic softness. He smiled and his shoulders squared. 

     We went out to the iar, where I gave him an impromptu geology lesson on the formation of atolls, showed him how to spit in his mask and rub it with leaves, and then we sloshed out until the water was deep enough to submerge our faces.  I reached for Frank’s hand, and there was something comforting about having him next to me as we swam, something special about showing him a part of my world.  I inwardly blessed Jamie for his forethought and suggestion, grateful that Frank and I were currently incapable of talking.  I tried to calm and center myself, listening to the raspy Darth-Vaderish echo of my breath through the snorkel.  And I tried to think—what the hell was I going to say to Frank?

 

     After snorkeling, I stood in the shower for a delicious five minutes of warmth, luxuriating in the ability to shampoo and condition my hair without doing countless squats to scoop up dipperfuls of lukewarm water to pour over myself.

     They served us a simple supper in the hotel of fish and coconut rice.  I described to Frank how the rice was made, and told him a little about Maria, the coconut grating bench, and even the “Come see the miracle,” story.  And then we went back upstairs.

 

     Frank sat down on one of the beds, and I sat on the one across the room from him.  His hair was still wet, and there were small dark circles on his tee shirt where he had missed spots with his towel.

     He looked at me sadly as I hugged a pillow to my chest.

      “I already fucked this up, didn’t I?  I’ve been harsh,” he said.  “I’ve been insulting.  I’m sorry.  I just…this has not be anything at all like I thought it would be.”

 

     For a moment, I considered what Frank had probably expected.  That he would come out to the island and I would be overjoyed to see him.  He imagined finally setting a date, and my delighted response.  Perhaps he thought I’d be relieved to be going back home with him; I’d said it was so much harder than I’d expected when I wrote him. He could have anticipated many things: a flurry of wedding plans, making love again, no longer being alone.

     Frank had never been one to cry.  I might have seen him tear up once or twice in the seven years of our relationship.  But he was weeping now.  “Claire,” he said, the lines on his face deepened by emotion.  “I miss you.  I miss _us_.  My life is not right without you there.  What did I do that made you leave me?  What was missing?  What was **_I_** missing?

     Looking at his familiar face, the face of a man I had loved for years, I longed to comfort him.  And I realized I could probably do it.  I could walk over to him, undress, and stand in front of him, let him kiss me, touch my body…I could easily go down on him…I would probably even enjoy it.  For the first time in our relationship, though, my heart knew it was wrong.  I didn’t want to be unfaithful to Jamie.  And so I sat where I was, and I didn’t get up.

 

      “Tell me, Claire,” said Frank, finally.  “Tell me what it is that this kid has that I didn’t.”

      “He’s twenty-two, Frank,” I said.  “Can you just stop insulting him?  When you do, you’re insulting me too, and it’s _not_ going to help.”

      “Dammit, Claire, I’m sorry,” he said.  “I feel _emasculated_.  He’s so big and muscular, and that sarong didn’t leave much to the imagination.  I know I broke up with you, but it feels like you cheated on me.  What is it, then?  What would make you marry someone you’d known such a short time?”

      “Jamie satisfies my _soul_ ,” I said finally. 

     I pictured him then, his good-humored face, eyes twinkling at me, his muscular chest where I’d rested my cheek many times.  His arms wrapped around me, the way I felt in his arms, as if nothing could harm me.  I sighed.

     Frank laughed bitterly.  “Your _soul_ is satisfied?  That just means he’s giving you lots of oral.”

     I rolled my eyes.  “Frank, don’t be an ass.  Jamie was a virgin when we got married. He didn’t go down on me before I married him.  And I _didn’t_ marry him based on sex.”

      “You know I can tell when you’re lying, Claire, don’t you?” Frank said, the corners of his mouth rising slightly.

     I shook my head.  “I didn’t say I wasn’t _attracted_ to him.  But I didn’t marry him because he impressed me sexually.  We did nothing sexual before we got engaged, and even then it was pretty benign over-the-clothes stuff.” 

      “Good for you, staying celibate for the _three_ days you were engaged before you got married…” Frank’s voice was laced with scorn; which I probably deserved, thinking about a certain desk in a certain classroom.

     I looked directly at Frank.  “Frank, you need to know that in no way is this a referendum on you as a sexual partner. You’re an excellent _lover_ , Frank.  You were always generous and skilled.”

      “Then what is it about?  Because you seem to think you have some deeper, _real_ reason you married this boy… _sorry_.”  He shook his head in apology; it seemed impossible for him to restrain himself from name-calling.

      “The real reason, Frank?  I didn’t realize it at the time Jamie and I got married, but I have realized it since then. You may have been an amazing lover, but I didn’t feel _loved_.”

     Frank stared at me.

      “I can tell this hurts you, and I’m sorry,” I said. “But can you really tell me that our relationship was enough for you? Did you truly feel loved and fulfilled?”

      “Our life was fine, Claire.”

      “It wasn’t fine for me,” I said.  “I felt empty. I needed something more.”

      “This is just like you,” Frank said. “You make decisions with your heart instead of your brain.  So he fulfills you…physically. I’m trying to believe you that it’s not about sex. But you really think that’s enough to base a relationship on?  A marriage?  You’ll have to spend a lot of time hugging and holding each other—because you’ll make decisions based on your feelings and everything will fall apart when you blaze into every decision too fast.  You’ll have all the hugs you need, but there’ll be no one to be the voice of reason, the calming, measured influence.”

      “Did you _like_ being the voice of reason for me?” I asked.

      “No.  It _sucked_!”  For a single instant, it looked like something was getting through to Frank.

      “Well, maybe I don’t _want_ you to be my parent, to look down on me.  I don’t want being with me to be a burden. Because I am not a burden to Jamie.”

     Frank was silent, considering me with serious eyes. 

      “The question is, Frank, did I fill your soul?  Did you feel complete with me, or just better? Just not lonely? Because with Jamie I finally feel satiated. Full.”

      “That’s hard to believe.  You were always so damn needy,” said Frank.  “Always wanting so much. ‘You need to hold me more, Frank. You need to touch me more, Frank. You need to make love to me more, Frank,’”

      “Needy?” I said. “Do you consider it being needy for humans to need oxygen?”

     Frank looked at me skeptically.  “No.  Because humans need oxygen to stay alive.”

      “Well, I need affection and attention and time for my heart to stay alive,” I replied. “And no matter how many times I reminded you or asked for what I needed, you wouldn’t, or couldn’t, give it to me. But with Jamie, I don’t even have to ask him. For him, affection comes as naturally as breathing or eating.”

     Frank was glaring at me.  “He’ll cheat on you, you know.  If he’s this physical…You won’t be enough for him.  You’re older than him.  Someday he’ll decide you aren’t young enough or beautiful enough or adventurous enough for him.”

      “Not fair, Frank,” I said.  “You can’t know the future.  And sexual faithfulness matters enough to Jamie that he stayed a virgin until he was 22.”

     Frank scoffed.  “What does virginity mean nowadays, anyway?  There’s still oral and hand jobs and masturbation and porn.”

     I cocked my head at Frank.  It wasn’t worth arguing with him; he wouldn’t believe me anyway.

 

     We talked for hours, rehashing the same few points—why wasn’t Frank enough, and why did what Jamie had fulfill my needs?  Finally, exhausted, I put on a loose dress to sleep in, over shorts.  I was about to crawl into bed, when Frank came over to me.

      “I want to kiss you, Claire,” Frank said.  “So kiss me, and then tell me you feel nothing for me anymore.”

     He pressed his lips to mine, his hand pressing in at the small of my back, his pelvis tilted toward me, clearly indicating he still desired me.  When he gently licked my lips with the tip of his tongue, I pulled away.

      “I love you, Frank,” I said, through tears.  “Just not the same way anymore.  I’m married to Jamie, and I love my husband.  I wish you all the best, and I hope you find someone who fills your soul.”

      “Okay, babe,” Frank said.  He hugged me.  “I’ll accept it.  Now, just sleep, Claire,” he said.  “The truck is scheduled to return in the morning, and I’ll take you back tomorrow.” 

 

 

     I tossed and turned restlessly, but it wasn’t very long before I heard the soft, even breathing that meant Frank was asleep.  I rolled over onto my side. 

     When it first came to mind, I couldn’t tell whether it was a dream or a memory.

     Frank had raised his eyebrows at me.  “Again?” he had asked.  “We just did it yesterday.”

     I had been wearing an adorable lace camisole with boy short panties underneath.  Before coming downstairs I had looked in a mirror.  I looked damn fine, my perky breasts heaped up above the lacy bodice, the boy shorts cheekily showing just enough of my fabulously round booty, if I said so myself.

      “I’ve really got to focus on this chapter, babe,” he had said.  “My deadline is a week from today.”

     I had gone upstairs muttering to myself bitterly, “How do you say no to this?”  But after I’d spent a little time appreciating myself in all my adorable sexiness and I didn’t feel frustrated anymore, I changed into pajama pants and a tank top.

     I hadn’t finished the dishes from dinner, so I headed downstairs.  Standing at the sink, I’d heard voices coming from Frank’s office. Voices, and sounds.  Whimpering, panting, grunting, groaning sounds. 

     I felt nauseated as I walked barefoot down the hallway.

     Frank was in front of his computer screen, his face contorted, eyes closed.

      “Babe?” I said quietly.  He slammed his laptop shut, as if that could hide what he was doing.

     And he had the same excuse as always.  It wasn’t me; he was stressed about his deadline.  It was too much work to have _sex;_ he just needed the stress release.  Never mind that I was about as active and generous a partner as a man could get. Never mind that _I_ needed the connection, the touch.  Never mind that if he’d told me how he was feeling and that he needed a stress release, I could have made his eyes roll back in his head with the things I could do with my mouth and hands

     I couldn’t judge.  After all, I masturbated, too.  But it was never a replacement for being with him, never as fulfilling, and I would never choose it over being together.

     I wanted Jamie, then, desperately.  His innocence, his devotion, his faithfulness, his wisdom, his kindness, his strength.  Tomorrow would not be soon enough.

     So I strapped on my sandals, and crept downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Notes: I had horrible writers' block for this chapter. So much energy went into the last one that this was a struggle. I've only had one real breakup in my life, but plenty of painful conversations. I can't imagine what it was like for Claire. In the Outlander book as well as the TV series, we don't really see Claire's thought process--but then she's only faced with her memories of Frank, not the actual man...
> 
> I think in the next chapter, we're going to hear from Jamie...we can eavesdrop on some Murtagh communication...


	35. Hey, Murtagh!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bonus chapter? Not sure if it even counts. When we were on the islands, we couldn't call, but we missed our family's voices, so we would sometimes record audiotapes and send them through the mail. I suppose nowadays you could send a little USB drive, but that would assume electricity. An old-fashioned tape player used good old-fashioned batteries._   
>  _This is a stream-of-consciousness chapter. Hops in verb tense, an occasional sound effect. It may not be your thing, but it was fun to write, and I couldn't wait until tomorrow to post it._

> I can’t write, Murtagh…I can barely even think clearly, so I hope you’ll be okay with a tape recording.  That these things even exist anymore is a wonder, what with phones and ipods.  But with no way to send a digital file, this is what you get.  Break out the tape player, and prepare yourself…it’s a rambling mess!
> 
> Jamie
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

….. _static_ … Hey, Murtagh!  Man, I wish ye were here.  I need someone to talk to, so this will have to do.  I thought… that when my ma died, _that_ was the hardest I could cry.  But then Da died, and that seemed even worse, because I blamed myself, and I didna have anyone to hold me… or hug me….. _sniffling… nose blowing…_. Murtagh, the pain I’m in right now… I can scarce believe I’m still alive.  Like… pain like this should kill me. _This. pain. should. kill. me_. 

I dinna drink very much out here.  There’s no much to drink, first of all… Arno’s officially a dry island, meaning, they don’t sell it here.  People bring it over from Majuro, or make their own version of moonshine.  But I’m a teacher, and I canna spare either the poor decisions _or_ the hangovers.… we didna even have champagne at our wedding.  Something about Claire’s parents not drinking?  Not sure…. but I found some of this whisky ye gave me the last time ye visited…. maybe it’ll help me forget…… _swigging drink… sharp intake of breath…. cough, cough_ … wow, I really canna handle my liquor anymore……

Wi’out Claire, it’s like my guts are being torn out, like my heart is gone.…… _footsteps heading away, then coming back…_ … Sorry, thought I heard something….. Have ye ever been in love, Murtagh? I don’t know if ye ever told me about being in love…. I thought I loved Laoghaire…. hell, that was just my cock talking….. I don’t think I was ever in love before this. Not this gut-deep, love-sick longing. Not this feeling that I would sacrifice life itself to be with someone… cause I would, I’m serious… if she needed a blood transfusion and it would kill me to give it… _chuckle_ …. well, that doesna make sense…maybe I’d risk my life as long as it meant I could be with her _longer_ …

Hey, I can’t decide whether this is more like confession or talking to myself, except I was usually just telling Father Bain about how many times I’d had impure thoughts… _countless_ … and how many times I’d abused myself… fewer than that, but I always cut the number in half… as far as confessions go, here’s one…. I’ve spent the last hour since Claire left curled up on the floor, sobbing my heart out.  I dinna feel like a man right now.  Men are stronger than this.  Aren’t they?.........

Claire’s gone.  I ken she loves me, or I thought she did.  And I want to believe that tomorrow I’ll see her coming down the road, coming home to me.  But that wouldna be right. So I’m preparing myself for the worst… _cough… sniffling… cough…._ God, I’m not doing very well at keeping these emotions in check.  Maybe if I just talk about getting to know Claire…..

So I told ye a little about Claire in my last letter, and I mentioned her before in passing.  I told ye there was a new Peace Corps nurse, and I may have told ye how I lusted after her… _sigh_ …. _groan_.... A Dhia, I wanted her so bad…. _chuckle_ …. Ye ken, she had her hands in my pants in the first ten minutes after I met her.  I told ye about that, didn’t I?... _laughter_ …. How I was wearing swim trunks when I had that horrific boating accident?... clumsy arse that I am…. She offered to cut them off, but I’ve told ye how hard it is to get clothes out here.  I’m trying to get my shorts off, but it hurts too bad.  So she offers to help me, all casual, like, ( _high pitched, sexy_ ) ‘I’m a nurse!’ …. _laughs_ … And I could see the way she looked at me, too.  She reaches for the drawstring and suddenly I realize it’s double-knotted.  So she’s kneeling down in front of me, her hands in my pants practically, and I’m praying, ‘Please, God, don’t let me get a cockstand right now.  Not with her face so close to me.’  Good thing I was in so much pain….

Can you believe I hugged her? Dinna ken if that’s typical doctor patient behavior, but she was sad and lonely.  Oh, wait, that wasn’t until _after_ she took out my stitches… _hmmmm_ …. I’m telling this all wrong, Murtagh.  The hug was the next day, I think.  Or was it that night?  It all gets mixed up in my mind.  She came to check on me, and brought us dinner, some strange salty American dish.  We’ve had it since, and I kinda like it, but ye ken I would have even eaten _dog food_ if she’d cooked it; I was so gone on her already…

Angus and Rupert were asses and wouldna walk her home, even with me injured.  But I wouldna have missed it for anything…. I walked her the mile back to her house that night, and when I said goodbye to her at her door, I could see this fragility in her eyes.  She was lovely and lonely and hurting.  I’d walked away from her apartment after saying goodnight, and I’m kicking myself, thinking, ‘Jamie, ye bastard, she needed a hug!’….. (I’m pretty sure it was at most the next day, because my arse was still hurting something awful.)  But I turned myself around and walked back to her house, thinking this was stupid and she was going to laugh at me. 

But I knock on her door, and ask if she needs a hug.  And her face just crumpled and she collapsed into my arms… this perfect sweet thing.  And my arse started to hurt, so I went inside her apartment (going completely against Peace Corps guidelines) and I sat down and I held her while she cried.  And she’s wearing these tiny shorts, barely more than underwear, and a tank top…. _deep breath out_ wi' no bra… I got _so_ turned on…. she saw me looking at her boobs, too, man… that was bad… But I was so turned on that she totally noticed and got off my lap. And of course by now, she’s told me she’s engaged.  So I’m sitting in her apartment with a raging erection wearing a sarong, of all things.  I’ll have to tell ye about the sarong another time.  But she made this silly joke, and she didna seem offended, didna seem disgusted by me….. _chuckling …..“_ sarong time to be wearing that _”…. hmmm…. sigh_ …. She’s a witty one.  Angus and Rupert like her, too.  They were a pair of numpties, though, determined to embarrass me by telling Claire I was a virgin.  They pushed us together, and then when it worked, tried to pull us apart…. _bastards_ ….

Not that it’s just about sex, Murtagh, because it isna…. _swigging drink_ … But damn, she is definitely sexual.  I told ye that in my last letter.  Did I also tell ye that she’s decided she’s going to do everything people do that have sex before they get married for me….. Like, ye ken… _everything_??  She says it makes her happy, especially because I stayed a virgin.  I wouldna have thought it would be a turn-on for a woman…. but anytime I use that as an excuse for not knowing something---oh, sorry, I dinna know how, because I was a virgin, she gets all handsy and smoochy and takes _over_ …. So far, she’s used her hands, and her mouth, and we did it over the clothes…. what did she call that?  Dry humping?  We did that when she was on her period…. I think I’m getting drunk, man.  Ye dinna want to hear all this…  Mm-maybe I should cover that part up…. Jamie, you arse--rewind and delete that bit….

_Two minutes of silence……_

So, like I was saying, what I feel for Claire is more than just desire… I love her, more than anyone.  Ever. I told her the other night about Ma and Willie, and Da.  I’ve comforted _her_ often.  Curled up in my arms, she starts to relax, and I can just feel the sad go out of her…  But, Murtagh, like, _she_ held _me_.  And with my cheek on her soft, soft, breast, my head tucked by her neck, it was like nothing could hurt me. God, I miss her…….. _silence….soft snore……snort….hiccup_ ….Damn.  I think I’m falling asleep.  I’m going to go lay down… _Click_.

After tonight, remind me never to drink again, Murtagh. I feel like shit.  I apologize for anything I said in the last half hour of this tape.  There’s no way I’m going to listen to it, though, so I hope you’ll forgive me or that you’ll at least have a laugh at my expense…oh, I totally forgot we were making bread.  I’m going to the kitchen…. _footsteps, plastic on wood, slapping, pounding sound_ ….You can hang out with me while I make this into loaves…

So where was I?  Claire had a fiancé… did I mention that?  And that’s where she is right now…  With him. At a hotel.... _swig of drink... grunt..._ And I told her to go, to hear him out?  What kind of dipwad am I?  Anyway, while she and I spent time together, I didna try to make him look bad, exactly, but I kept asking her why he let her leave, why he didna marry her.  I asked her if she loved him.  And she didna say yes…… _metallic clunk…_ Okay, two loaves… how long do they have to rise?  Sorry.  Talking to myself.  It’s getting late…but I need to finish this bread, so I guess I’ll talk to ye a little longer.

There was gossip going around about the two of us.  Guess some people heard us talking late at night, thought we were sexually active.  Well we werena having sex.  Except in my dreams at night.  I hadna had that happen to me at night in a long time.  I try to keep my self-abuse to a minimum, even if I dinna have a priest to confess to.  But it had still been since I was a young teenager that I woke up having been so wrapped up in a dreamed fantasy that I…ye know…  But it was happening more than I care to admit as I got to ken her.  Oh, the thoughts I had...

This one day, I hung out wi’ her while she did laundry.  We’re talking, and she’s hanging up all these bras and panties. We hung out that whole afternoon… _chuckle_ … I think I kept stretching it out, just trying to spend more time with her.

Then a storm came.  You’ve never lived until you’ve seen an approaching storm on Arno.  We rushed around, getting her clothes off the lines.  And afterward she danced around in the rain like a little girl.  Till her dress was clinging to her body…till she was cold and I could see her nipples, sticking out like…sorry, I’m acting like I’m just talking to myself again.  I should probably erase that, too…Let's see...which button do I push?

_thirty seconds of silence._

Well, I hope that worked…Where was I? So she comes up and squeezed next to me on the stoop.  I put my arm around her…she was shivering and cold.  I could have kissed her then.  She was looking at me like she wanted me to.  But then she retreated from me…it was like she’d been present, but then she was gone.  I went back home, but it was like my brain kept going…I kept imagining following her into her apartment, peeling her clothes off, and making love to her.

Even now I realize though, Murtagh… none of those fantasies can stand up against the reality.  Christ, she’s amazing….I miss her so much, and she’s only been gone……six hours…it’s like 11:30 at night.

But where was I?  So with the rumors going around about us, and with Rupert and Angus urging her away as strongly as they’d pushed her toward me… I think she realized how she felt about me, and it was like she broke up with me.  Wouldn’t let me comfort her, wouldn’t come to me for friendship. Even when one of her little patients died.  God, I could see on her face how much she needed me. 

Until…until Frank broke up with her.  I think it was the next day, or the day after that, after the funeral.  I’d been in agony without her.  My students thought I was sick.  “Meester Shamie, you are nan̄inmej? Go home, Meester Shamie.”

That night, there’s a knock on my bedroom window.  And it was Claire.  Wearing those sexy little shorts and a tank top.  I held her while she cried.  And then she asked if she could sleep with me…. _groan_ …. Not in a sexual way.  She just couldna be alone. Have ye ever slept next to a woman you’re attracted to, Murtagh?  Talk about torture.  Her round arse pressed up against me?  Her breasts, barely covered…and she wanted my arm around her, of course…restraining myself took herculean effort!

So he hurt her, but then she came to me broken and open to be loved. The man was a fool and I benefitted because of it.  And today Frank showed up here. Apologized.  Proposed to her –this time for real…. _scoff_ ….Not sure why any man would propose without the intent to actually _marry_ a girl... _gulp....ahhh_.....  I punched him in the face, though…that was good.  Basically, he called her a hoor, my wife… _bastard_ …

Murtagh, she’sh _got_ to come back.  If she doesna, I’m not sure what I’m going to do…I need to lay down again.  I’ll shet a timer for when I put the bread in the oven…. _click_ …

I’m back.  I think I'm drunk....I dinna want to be up, but I put the bread in the oven, and it’ll be finished baking in half an hour… _wooden rapping noise._..Wha's that?.... _knocking noise again._...Someone’s knocking at the door.  What the…?  Itch two fifteen in the morning.  I’ll be ri' back….. _footsteps…metallic rattling…squeak of a door…_

 _CLAIRE?_   **_Jamie, I’m home._** Oh, Claire, God, Claire! ** _I choose you…_** Get _in_ here!… _laughter_ …oh, Ripālle, you look like hell, woman… _female sobbing, then silence **…**_ Itok, Ripālle, c'mere....let me hold you… _.approaching footsteps…sounds of kissing_ … _bed squeaking...more kissing…Much more kissing…_ Ha!  Murtagh!  Ye shneaky wee bastard.  Thought ye’d listen in, did ye?  Talk to ye later, man… _cough, sniff_ …all iss well in my world tonight… _click_. 

 

 


	36. I Choose You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The long road home..._

     My heart was singing as I began to walk.  _Jamie_. I was going home to Jamie.  I imagined his face when he saw me, how his eyes would light up.  I thought of making love to him, of how much I wanted to be one with him again.  The gravel crunching under my sandals was a repeated chant, “Jamie, Jamie, home to Jamie.”

     After an hour on the road—an hour in near pitch darkness—I began to question the wisdom of my choice to walk home in the middle of the night. I had tried to jog at the beginning, but after landing firmly on a sharp rock that had lodged itself in my sandal, followed five minutes later by stubbing my toe, I decided it was best to be a tortoise.

     Math occupied my mind for a time.  I had left a little before 11.  If I kept a steady pace of about two-and-a-half to three miles an hour, it would take me over three hours to get back to Jamie.  Could I walk until two in the morning? Or later? I was already tired; it had been an emotionally exhausting day.

     To keep myself from discouragement and exhaustion, I knew I needed to distract myself.  I tried to recall the different times I had interacted with Jamie, and how each one had led to falling in love with him.  There was a common thread, as most of them were him being compassionate and ended with him hugging me, holding me, or sleeping with me, so I decided that was ineffective at helping me stay motivated or awake.  I wanted to be home already, in his arms already, and I didn’t want to start crying.

     I thought of singing my favorite songs, but realized that in the silence of the islands, I’d forgotten a lot of them.  I did remember Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing,” from the countless times my dad had played it for us at home, so I sang as much of it as I could. I tried to remember the soundtrack for the Sound of Music, though I did question whether singing was the best of choices.  I didn’t want to attract the attention of any wandering drunk men.

     By one in the morning, I was exhausted. I was past the point of wondering whether I was developing blisters on my feet and now wondering if I would be able to keep my toes, and a nagging thought in the back of my mind made me think I. might just fall down and die of exhaustion and get eaten by coconut crabs.  Or mosquitoes.  I hadn’t put on bug spray after snorkeling, and they were finding me delicious. 

     But then the moon came up, a slivered crescent of light in the sky.  I could see it slowly moving, and it provided just enough light that I didn’t feel like I was walking in circles.  I could see the pale channels of coral gravel with a grassy divider in between, and I doggedly put one foot in front of the other.  My new mantra was “One more step…one more step…” (during which I could actually walk eight steps).  Occasionally I would close my eyes, but I found myself veering to one side of the road or the other and decided that was ineffective.

     On the outskirts of Ine, I nearly started to cry in relief.  The trees occluded my view of the moon, but there were finally outlines of houses added to the never-ending coconut palms of the previous miles.  Occasionally I would get a glimpse of the iar, silvery slivers of moon reflecting off the ripples of water. 

     And then I heard it.  A low growl, coming from my left.  I figured it was just someone snoring, but then I heard it again.  It was definitely a growl, and it was coming closer.

     I had nothing on me.  I was wearing a dress and sandals.  But I remembered Jamie’s rock story, and I dropped to my knees on the road, scrabbling around to see if I could find a rock.  The growl came again, and out of the shadows slunk the lithe form of a wild dog, his hackles raised, white teeth visible.  He started to move toward me and I drew back my hand, gripping the medium-sized rock I had found.  This dog wasn’t as skittish as the one in Jamie’s story; he kept moving forward.  As he came closer, from somewhere deep in my throat came a gutteral, primal sound.  “AAAaaaa!” I screamed, running toward the dog, as I hurled the rock with all my might at his head.  “I am going home to my husband, you beast, and you are not stopping me!”

     I don’t know if I hit him with the rock or terrified him with my voice, but that dog turned tail and ran, and so did I, not caring about the way the rocks jabbed into the bottoms of my feet, the way my blisters stung, and my sweaty legs chafed together.  I was going home…

     The faint solar light was lit on the exterior of the clinic as I stumbled across the yard to our door, up the steps, and tried the door knob.  It was locked, and my key was back in my suitcase in Arno Arno.  I knocked quietly; I didn’t really want to bother Jamie if he was sleeping.  But looking at the curtains through the louvers, I thought I saw a hint of light.  The lights were on?  Jamie was up?  I knocked louder.

     I heard a low male voice and the hollow echo of footsteps across the floor, then the rattling sound of the lock being unbolted.  Why was it taking Jamie so damn long?

     The door opened, and there he was.  Still wearing the blue sarong, still no shirt.  His eyes were bleary and red, his hair was a mess.  His fingernails were rimmed with white and there was a smudge of flour on his cheekbone.  The bread?  

     He stared at me, then said in shock, “CLAIRE?!!”  He stood there dumbly.

      “Jamie, I’m home,” I said, as if I needed to declare it to myself as much as him.

      “Oh, Claire,” he said, “ _God_ , _Claire_ ,” he stepped outside and wrapped me in his arms.

      “Jamie,” I whispered into his chest, then lifted my chin to look at him.  “I choose _you_.”

      “Get in here!” he exclaimed, ushering me into the house.  As I came into the light, he laughed at me, looking me up and down.  “Oh, Ripālle, ye look like hell, woman!”

     I’d held it together until then, but dissolved into tears.  It took Jamie a moment to realize that I felt like hell as much as I _looked_ like hell, and the smile disappeared from his face, replaced by a look of compassion.

      “Itōk, Ripālle,” Jamie said, leading me toward the bed.  “C’mere, let me hold you.”  He sat down and pulled me onto his knee, kissing me soundly.  We pressed ourselves together like we hadn’t seen each other for years, kissing as hungrily as if we were starving. 

     Jamie picked me up and rolled us onto the bed, continuing to cover my lips and face with ardent kisses. Then my hip bumped something in the bed, and I picked it up.

      “Ha, _Murtagh_!” Jamie exclaimed, taking the tape recorder from me and talking to it.  “Ye shneaky wee bastard.  Thought ye’d listen in, did ye?  Talk to ye later, man.”  He almost looked like he was about to cry as he looked at my face, and smilingly said. “All is well in my world tonight,” before he hit the button on the side of the player.

     It didn’t take long to realize Jamie wasn’t acting like himself, more like a big goofy four-year-old who wanted to touch my body.  When he tried to kiss me again, now that our first emotional greetings were done, I could tell why.

      “Jamie, you _reek_!  Have you been drinking?” I grimaced, pushing his face away.

      “Aye,” he said.  “Whisky… froMurtagh…” he slurred his words together, and pointed at a bottle of amber colored liquid on the table.  “D’ye wanssum?”

      “No thanks,” I said, pulling myself out of bed and going over to my dresser.  I was sweaty and dirty, and I needed something clean to wear before going to bed.  There would be no passionate love-making that night for a number of reasons, among them that I was exhausted, it was past two in the morning, I had blisters on my feet, and my thighs were chafed from walking nine miles in a dress.  And add to that, my husband was totally and completely _drunk_.

     I grabbed panties, shorts, and a tank top, then went into the kitchen.  Jamie followed me with his eyes; the rest of him didn’t appear to be coordinated enough to stand upright.

     Plugging the sink, I poured some water in.  Peeling my clothes off, I grabbed a washcloth and soap, and hopped up to sit on a hand towel on the counter, sticking my poor sore feet into the sink.  Just being able to wash the dirt off my legs felt good, chilly as the water was.

     At the sight of my naked body, Jamie roused himself, stumbling across the apartment to join me.  “Oh, Claire,” he said, as he leaned on the kitchen counter, watching me.  “Yer so bew-ful.  I just want to touch your body.  B’cause I love you soooo mush… mush.... so mu _ch_ …”

  
  
_This totes adorable picture of "Drunk Jamie" is by Cantrix_Grisea. So cute!!_  


  


      “Really, now?” I said dryly.  “You do know I came home for you, don’t you?”

      “Aye,” he said.  “I washdrinking because I dinna ken if you would.  I cried a _lot_ today.”

     I had a hard time reining in my laughter. “So is whisky like truth serum for you?” I asked.

      “I dinna want pancakes,” he said, closing his eyes. “Even wi’ serum.”

      “Go to bed, Jamie,” I said, laughing.  “If you talk much more, I’m going to turn around and walk back to Frank.”

     Jamie’s eyes instantly looked five times more sober. He walked over and put his arms around me and his forehead on my shoulder.  “Ye canna leave me now, Claire.  You chose me.”

     As sore and tired as I was, I could see my husband was in much worse emotional condition.  I swiveled my legs and lowered myself off the counter, put Jamie’s arm over my shoulder and my arm around his waist, and helped him back to our bed.

      “S’like when we first met, Ripālle,” he slurred.  “’Cept, I was bleeding, and ye werena naked.”

     I turned, took his face between my hands to kiss him, and then lowered him into the bed.

      “Lie wi’ me, please, Claire,” he said, not letting go of my hand.  “Just until I fall asleep?  I need you in my arms.” He was teary, and it made me misty-eyed in sympathy.  “Today was the _worst_ ,” he sighed.  “I love you…I’m so glad you’re back.” Looking at him, I realized bathing was the last thing my sweet husband needed me to do.  I turned the apartment lights off and tiptoed back to our bed, lifting the sheet to crawl in.

      “I love you too, baby boy,” I said, curling up in front of Jamie.  He wrapped his arm over me, palmed my breast with a contented grunt, and swiped my hair out of his way so his forehead rested at the nape of my neck, his curls blending with mine.

     I felt him whispering then.  I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly or not, but I thought I heard him say, “Oh, God, thank you for bringing her back to me.”

 

     I woke to a touch as soft as a paint brush, Jamie tracing the lines of my face with one finger.  I breathed in deeply and sighed as I exhaled, as Jamie drew my cheek, my eyebrow, the bridge of my nose. I stretched and smiled without opening my eyes, and Jamie touched my lips with his.

      “I’m sorry about last night, mo ghràidh,” Jamie whispered.  His breath was minty, his skin cool, and hair wet.  He’d showered and brushed his teeth.

     The touch continued, a light whisper against my skin…my jaw, down my neck, up the slope of my breast, and a chilly circle traced around my nipple, echoed by the warmer whisper of breath and lips.  I gasped and my body contracted in response to him.

     I opened my eyes to see him beaming down at me.  This morning his eyes were cloudless blue, crinkled at the corners, his mouth a constant smile.

      “Oh, Claire,” he said.  “I dinna ever want ye to leave me again.”

     I could feel myself opening to him, first as an ache of affection in my chest, followed by a growing warmth between my legs.

      “Will ye say it again for me?” he asked, closing his eyes and lowering his lips to mine.

      “Say it?” I asked, confused.  “I love you?”

      “No,” he answered.  “You told me last night, I think, but I was pretty drunk.”

      “Oh!” I said, realizing what he meant.  I raised my hands to his cheeks and looked him in the eyes.  “I choose you, James Fraser.”

     He groaned.  “Oh, Claire, I need ye so bad.  But I’ve got to go teach.  And I think a quickie at lunch won’t be satisfying enough. I promise that this afternoon or evening after school, I will have recovered from my hangover and you’ll have rested enough. I need to spend some time on you.”  The promise in his eyes made me shiver.

      “Please.  Because I need you, too,” I said, pulling him down to me.  “Probably a good idea to delay, but you still may need to be gentle.  I walked nine miles yesterday, and my upper thighs are chafed.”

     He got an impish look on his face.  “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to leave, so I can do something about that…Let me start by massaging you with some lotion, then.”

      “So _kind_ of you,” I teased.  “But somehow I have a feeling I wouldn’t let you leave once you got started.”

 

     I slept almost all day.   Jamie had scribbled “Miss Peach enañinmej,” on the clinic sign before he headed wearily off to school, kissing me soundly before he did.  Hopefully there wouldn’t be any terrible accidents and I could just rest, after the emotional and physical upheaval of the last 24 hours.

     Partway through the day, I heard a knock on my door.  When I pulled myself from bed and opened it, there was my suitcase, with a curt note from Frank saying it would have been nice for me to let him know what I was doing—he was terrified when he woke up and didn’t know where I was.  I shook my head wearily, and went back to bed.

 

     I had thought Jamie would come home and want to spend time with me immediately after school, but instead, he had brought a stack of tests he needed to grade with him, so he sat down at the kitchen table to try to finish them up.  I had slept the day away, and was feeling stir-crazy and bored, having only achieved one goal—taking a thorough shower.  I stood behind Jamie for a while, rubbing his shoulders, but not managing to distract him, I started wandering around our bed.

      “Do I get to listen to this?” I asked him, pulling the portable tape recorder from where he’d set it on the bedside table the previous night.  “Drunk Jamie could prove to be _very_ interesting.”

     At the look of terror on his face, I teasingly grabbed the tape recorder and ran to the door of the cabin, out to the shower, and locked it with the hook.  Jamie, having been in a sitting position on the heavy wooden bench at our kitchen table, was at a distinct disadvantage.

      “Claire!” Jamie’s voice thundered out through the louvers.  “Ye shouldna hear the awful things I said about ye.”

      “Awful?”  I said.  “I was under the impression that you loved me and wanted me to come back…”

      “No, just _lustful_ things.  The things I thought and the way I felt before we were married.”

      “Oh, now I’m even more interested,” I said, pressing rewind so the recorder made a metallic squeaking sound.

      “Claire,” his voice was lower now, pleading.  “Dinna embarrass me, please.  I was drunk…I think I said some things I wouldna want you to hear.”

      “Okay,” I sighed.  I unlocked the door and headed back into the house, handing the recorder to Jamie as I entered.

      “What if I _want_ you to talk a little dirty to me?” I said.  “What if I want to hear those lustful thoughts? What if they make me want you as well?”  I grinned at him.

      “Okay,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile.  “Just one.  For now.”

      “And?” I said helpfully.

      “But ye have to play along,” he said.  “So ye need to be wearing a tank top, and no bra, little panties, and tiny shorts.”

      “And what will you be wearing?” I asked.

      “A sarong,” he said, biting his lower lip.  “And a tee shirt.”

      “I think I like where this is going,” I said, as I retrieved the suggested clothing items from my dresser and started to change.  “But no peeking!” Just for jollies, I left off both the bra _and_ the panties.

      “So,” I said.  “I’ll be Claire, who has just newly moved to a tropical island.  She’s lonely, and this guy…let’s call him…

      “James,” said Jamie.  “A really handsome, nice guy, great smile, hot body.”  He grinned.

      “He just walked her home.  And he dropped her off at her house, and he headed back to his, leaving her all alone,” I narrated sadly.

      “But he started thinking, she looked so sad.  She maybe needed a hug.  So he turned around, thinking, _she’s going to think I’m stupid_.”

      “Really?”  I said. “Oh, Jamie, I _didn’t_.  It was the sweetest thing!”

      “Oh, I ken,” said Jamie, confidently.  “Because when James knocked on the door, and asked if she needed a hug,”

      “She said yes.  And started crying,” I said, stepping into his arms.

      “He felt her body against him, all those luscious curves.”

      “How did he _ever_ restrain himself?” I lifted my face to Jamie.

      “By the grace o’ God,” Jamie replied with a grin. “But he was toying wi’ God’s grace when he took her into her apartment,” he led me by the hand, “and sat down on her bed.  And took her on his knee.”

      “He was holding a crying woman.  What could he have _possibly_ been thinking?” I asked innocently. Jamie looked shy for a moment, until he realized I was just fishing for more details.

      “Aye,” he chuckled, “What _indeed_? Just that she had the roundest arse he’d ever seen, and he wanted to put his hands on it.”  With that, Jamie made me squeal by dipping his legs as if to drop me; but he saved me by firmly grasping the part under discussion.  “And what of Claire?  Was she having holy thoughts about her fiancé?” Jamie asked.

      “I don’t think she remembered she had a fiancé right then,” I admitted honestly.  “What she _did_ notice, was that James was looking down her shirt.”

     Jamie complied with my directive, grasping the neckline of my tank top and pulling it outward slightly. “Oh, Claire,” he breathed, looking up at me with dilated pupils.  “I dinna ken how much more of this I can stand!”

      “Restraint is sexy, Jamie,” I said, and then squirmed on his lap slightly.  “Oh, I remember this part, too.”

     He flushed in embarrassment at the memory and his current state.  “God, I was horrified.  It isna fun to be a man sometimes.  Yer body betrays what’s in yer head and heart, even when you’re trying as hard as ye can to be respectful.”

      “I received your gesture in the spirit it was meant, Jamie,” I said seriously.  “You were being so sweet to me.”

      “Can we stop now?  And move on?” Jamie asked, eyeing the bed. “I think we’re both adequately roused.”

      “You need to tell me what you were _thinking_ of doing,” I said.  “Once you’ve confessed, I’ll let you _do_ it.”

      “Now, that’s an odd kind of confession, Ripālle,” Jamie said.  “I’m used to feeling guilty for what I confess because it’s wrong.”

      “You need to retrain yourself,” I said.  “Because now, with me, it’s right.”

      “Aye, marriage is a sacrament, isn’t it?”  He wrinkled his forehead.  “After years of confessing my impure thoughts, I dinna ken if I’ll be able to freely share them.”

      “Shall we listen, then?” I said, eyeing the tape recorder. 

     Jamie scoffed. “Maybe if I tell ye quietly, in yer ear.”

     He perched his chin on my shoulder, his rumbly voice and the tickle of his breath on my ear and through my hair giving me shivers even before I registered what he was saying.  “I thought about coming back in after we said goodbye.  I thought about standing with you, taking you in my arms, and kissing you.  I imagined peeling off yer tank top, and pulling down your shorts and panties.  I wondered if ye might take off my shirt and unwrap my sarong,” he blushed.  “I wondered if ye would touch me, too. I thought of laying ye on your back, and lying on you between your legs.  I wanted to take yer breasts in my hands and in my mouth.  And when you invited me, when you asked me to, _if_ you asked me to, I was so ready to make love to ye, to give myself to ye.”

      “Even though you were committed to being a virgin?” I turned to look at him.  “Even though you’d kept yourself from it all those years?”

      “Oh, Claire,” Jamie said.  “I knew I loved you that day.  When you cried, and I held ye; I couldna imagine ever letting anything hurt or harm ye.  And I didna want any other man to have ye.  I waited, yes, but I think I was waiting for you.  You are my match, Claire, my perfect fit.  Say it to me again, Ripālle.”

     I smiled into his eyes.  “I choose you, Jamie Fraser.”

     He kissed me.  “I choose you, too.”

 


	37. Love Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not what you think; Claire needs to let Jamie hear her heart.

     I couldn’t stop touching him.  I was massaging his shoulders again, naked, standing close enough that my breasts and stomach were brushing against his back.

      “Ri-pālle, I’m trying to finish grading,” Jamie said.  He paused, and then I could feel his muscles tense under my hands.  “When we made love,” he said hesitantly, “and I…touched ye while I was inside, I thought…well the noises ye made…and what I felt, I thought you…”

      “Oh, yeah, I had an orgasm,” I assured him.

      “But…ye arna satisfied?” He paused, but he didn’t turn to look at me.

      “Sexually, yes.  Emotionally, no,” I admitted honestly.  “Jamie, I was one decision away from losing you forever.  Just yesterday. Will you come back to bed and hold me?  Are these tests that important?”

      “No more important than my wife,” Jamie said, reaching back, grabbing me around the waist, pulling me next to him, and quickly nipping at my breast.  “But the kids were very worried about their science test grades, and I promised them I’d have them graded before tomorrow. You would have me be a man of my word, would ye not?”

      “Definitely,” I said, with a sigh of resignation.  He was right, of course.  The things that made me love him were also the things that obligated him to others as well.  I wrinkled my forehead in thought.  “Is there any part I could grade _for_ you?  I’m happy to help if it means I can have your attention back sooner.”

     Jamie smiled at me, an endearing lopsided grin.  “Aye,” he said.  “But will ye put something on?  I canna focus wi’ yer naked body so close.” Obligingly I found the tank top and shorts next to the bed where Jamie had flung them an hour previously after removing them in just the way he’d promised.  When I stood back up after bending to retrieve them, though, Jamie looked away quickly, his face flushing.

      “You know, you _can_ look at me,” I said.  “I’m your wife.  This…” I indicated my body, “is yours to enjoy.”

      “Aye?” Jamie said, directing his gaze back at me.

      “Definitely!” I said. “It makes me feel beautiful to know you want me.”

      “That I _do_ ,” Jamie said, his voice dropping nearly an octave as he cocked his head to the side, staring at me as I pulled my shorts up. “Hmm,” he said, eyes twinkling.  “Why don’t ye stop wi’ just that.  Once we’re done, I _will_ come back to bed wi’ ye, but I canna promise it will be just to hold ye.”

      “Whew!” I fanned myself, looking away.  “Is it hot in here?”

      “Actually, it is,” Jamie said, grinning, “But I dinna think that’s what ye meant.”

 

     I sat down at the table, and Jamie handed me a small stack of papers and a red pen.  Riti Botla’s name was at the top of the first test.

      “She got a hundred percent,” Jamie said, with a fond smile.  “Use her work as the master key to grade the other students’ matching sections.”

      “Can I use purple pen?” I asked, looking with distaste at the red one.  “It’s just a friendlier color.”

      “D’ye want yer husband to get teased more than he already is by his students?”

      “Do you get teased on a regular basis?” I asked, wondering what his students would tease him about.

      “Aye,”  he said, “And it’s all your fault.  The boys tease me by asking me if I touch your body and kōmmon nana wi’ ye; the girls tease me by asking me when I’m going to have a baby wi’ ye, and they all tease me any time I accidentally get distracted by thoughts of ye; which, sadly, happens more than I care to confess.”

     I leaned my chin on my hand and stared adoringly at Jamie.  “Dammit, I have _such_ a crush on you,” I said.

      “Do ye now?” Jamie asked, looking adorably pleased at the thought.  But then his eyebrows furrowed pensively.  “But you _love_ me too, don’t ye?”

      “Yes,” I said earnestly.  “That’s why I’m here.  And there are things I want to say to you, things that I realized as I talked to Frank about my decision, things that _you_ need to hear.  But, I really want it to be distraction free, so let’s finish this up first.”  Jamie nodded, and we turned to the pages in front of us.

     As I began to grade, I realized that the sheets looked handwritten, and the ink was blue.  “You don’t have _electricity_ ,” I said.  “How did you make copies?”

      “Have ye heard of a mimeograph?” Jamie asked.

      “I might have heard the word,” I answered, shaking my head, “but I don’t know what it is.”

      “It’s a machine, run by crank, that creates copies of documents when ye dinna have electricity.”

      “How does it work?”  I asked, as I moved on to the next test.

      “Well, ye use special paper and write really hard to create a carbon copy.  It makes a mirror image of the writing, so it’s backwards.  Then you use the mimeograph machine, tucking your original into an slot on a large metal barrel and using a special solvent that allows the blue writing to be imprinted on paper.  Then ye crank, once for each copy, and it will make a good number of copies, up to 50, I think.”

 

      “Neat,” I said.  “I hadn’t really thought about the lack of computers, and Ipads, and printers and copiers out here.  It probably makes it a little harder to teach.”

      “I dinna think so, actually,” said Jamie, shaking his head.  “Wi’ out those things to distract the children, they actually find us teachers very amusing, and they enjoy school.  And here in the islands, education is respected, and teachers are revered around here.”

      “But still teased?” I said, stretching my back while his eyes were on me.  I tried to look nonchalant, but the stretch wasn’t only for my benefit.

      “Aye,” said Jamie.  “Still teased.” He looked at me hungrily.  “Perhaps we should work more and talk less, lass.  I’m beginning to feel a little hot myself.”

     I finished grading, but Jamie still had a few short answer questions to read over.  I used his calculator to total points and figure percentages, but finally I had done everything I could.

     I sighed deeply, and caught Jamie eyeing me.  “Ye arna very patient, wee one,” he said.  “So I’m going to give ye an assignment.”

      “Now, what would that be?” I asked curiously.

      “I confessed the dark desires I had for ye before we married,” he said.  “Now it’s going to be your turn.” 

      “Is it?” I asked, eyebrows raised. 

      “Aye,” he affirmed.  “Get to work.  Think it over.  Make a plan, and take care of anything ye need to get it ready.”  He chuckled.  “Or to get yerself ready.”

     If Jamie had first thought of making love to me when he first walked me home and held me, my first lustful thought about him was when he hung out with me on laundry day.  When the storm came, after pulling the laundry off the line I stayed in the yard and danced in the rain.  Then, soaking wet to the skin, I joined him under the awning.   The two of us huddled there and he put his arm around me as I shivered, apparently not caring that I was getting him wet.  He looked at my lips, and I wanted him to kiss me, or more.

     Watching my face as I was thinking, Jamie smiled broadly.  “ _Oh_ ,” he said.  “I’ve a feeling this is going to be good.” 

      “But I haven’t said a _word_ ,” I said. 

      “Your face told me plenty!” Jamie turned back to his grading with a new intensity, as I went and started a pot of water boiling, then searched through the closet for my clingiest sundress.

     _How am I going to do this?_   I wondered.  I didn’t want to attract attention by being inappropriate outside, but I thought that’s at least where we should begin.  When it appeared that Jamie was on his last test, I took the pot outside to the shower.

     Jamie looked up as I was leaving.  “Am I joining ye?” he asked. 

      “No.  Just wait.  I’ll let you know when it’s your turn to enter the scene.”

     I felt a little ridiculous and not a little horny as I changed into the sundress, sans underwear, then poured warm water over myself.  The dress clung to my curves, my hair hung down in droopy ringlets, and I was soaking wet.  I stood in the shower for a minute, letting the excess water drip off, then shook my head, rolled my eyes, walked to our door, and knocked, standing there dripping.

     Jamie came to the door.  When he saw me, he almost gasped.  I could tell from the instant softening of his expression that it meant something to him that I’d chosen this moment.

      “Your face just said something,” I said to him.  “Can you tell me what you were thinking?”

     He looked down bashfully.  “I thought…That day I thought you might feel something for me.  But then I talked myself out of it.  It made me doubt myself.  Made me think I was a fool, reading something in yer eyes that wasna there.”

     I pulled Jamie down to me and kissed him on the lips.  “I was ashamed of it, then, because I felt like I was cheating on Frank emotionally.  But let’s not focus on that.  Quick, put your arm around me, and then let’s go inside.”

      “Just a minute,” Jamie said.  He looked down at my body, his gaze focusing on two particular points.  “Mmm,” he grunted appreciatively.  “I remember that afternoon quite vividly.  But I think ye’ve cheated a little.  I think ye were wearing a bra that day.  Ye arena wearing one now.”

      “But I’m wet like I was that day,” I said. 

      “Itok, Ripālle, and we’ll see if ye are or if ye aren’t,” Jamie replied, guiding me inside, his arm around my shoulders.

     As we came inside, Jamie turned off the lights and pressed me against the door with his body, kissing me as he gathered up my dress with both hands.  The dress warred against him, attempting to stay fused to my wet skin.

      “Just a minute, Jamie,” I said, pushing on his chest.  “I’m _engaged_.  So we can’t actually have sex.  Are you okay with that?”

     He pulled away briefly, looking down at me.  It took a second for him to register that I was playing Claire back then instead of myself, but then he got an impish grin.

      “Aye,” he said.  “Then, we should slow this thing down.”  With that, he knelt in front of me, and put his hands on my hips, while I rested my arms on his shoulders.  “Claire, you’re like a Silke,” he said, looking at me, running his fingers through strands of my still-dripping hair.   “All shiny and wet, like ye just came out of the sea.  Are ye ‘eternally lustful’ like the Silkes? Because I think I’ve already lost my heart to ye.  If ye leave me, I ken I would be lovesick forever.”

      “When I’m around you, yes, Jamie, I am filled with lust.” I responded.  He leaned down slightly and took my nipple in his mouth, biting just enough to make me squirm, then sucking until I could hear the sound of the water flowing through the fabric.  He gripped me tighter, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips and hindquarters.

     He put his mouth on my other breast and groaned.  “A Dhia, Ripālle, I want to see ye naked.  But my da said a good policy to keep yer virginity is to never be naked together.”

      “But I can’t keep these wet clothes on,” I said innocently.  “I need to change.”

     Married Jamie grinned as he sorted through the possible responses Virgin Jamie might have had, and then slowly stood up.  “Aye.  Ye _should_ change.  I will turn my back and give ye privacy.”

     I went to my dresser and pulled out a peach satin chemise.  So far, we’d pretty much gone the route of clothing straight to naked when we had sex, and I hadn’t bothered much with lingerie.  I turned to see if Jamie was peeking, which I completely expected, but he had his back to me, chin up, looking away from me.

      “Okay,” I said, once the chemise had fallen over my body.  Jamie turned, and his eyes widened.

      “God, Claire,” he said, “Just when I dinna think ye could be any more beautiful, there ye are.”  He stood and stared at me.  “I dinna feel like I’m worthy to touch ye.”

      “Are you _acting_ right now, or serious?” I asked.

      “ _So_ serious,” he said.  He stepped forward and took me in his arms.  He rocked me, back and forth, one hand at the back of my head, the other one around my back. 

     I looked up at him.  “I don’t want to pretend anymore,” I said.  “This is real, and my feelings for you are real, and I want to make love to you, so that you don’t wonder whether what you’re feeling is really me.”

     Jamie stroked my back and my hair, continuing to weave back and forth as he held me.  It was curious, but my desire started to ease away.  Instead, I just felt peace.

      “I’d like to hear what it is you wanted to say to me, Claire,” Jamie said.

      “Like this?”  I asked.  “Not lying down in bed?”

      “Like this,” he said.  “What did you tell Frank that ye havena told me?”

      “I told him that you are my soul mate, that with you…”

      “Not like that,” Jamie said.  “Talk to me, not to Frank.” 

      I suddenly felt vulnerable, as I looked up into his piercing blue eyes, darkened by dilated pupils.

      “Jamie,” I said.  “I don’t know if you believe in soul mates, but I have never felt this way about anyone.  I’m so comfortable in your presence, and yet you wake my body like no one ever has.  I’ve never been so satisfied being with a person, and yet ached so badly when we’re apart.”

      “I’ve been accused of being needy—by boyfriends who felt like I asked for too much affection from them.  But with you I feel satiated and full. Jamie, I love you."

     Jamie’s eyes were moist as he pulled me to him and kissed me on the forehead, wrapping his arms around me again.  He sighed, his muscular chest and abdomen expanding, pressing against me.  He started crooning in Gaelic into my hair.

      “Mo chridhe…oh, Claire,” he said.  “I’ve been so afraid.  That I love you more than you could ever love me; that I want you more than you could ever want me.  Do you know how much it means to hear ye say this, Ripālle?”

      Wordlessly I hugged him in answer.

 

      “This may sound strange, Claire, but I want to _not_ make love to you,” Jamie said, almost in disbelief at his own words.  “What we have isna just about sex, Ripālle.  Because love will last even when we’re too old and feeble to make love to each other anymore.  Tonight I just want to fall asleep with you close to me.”

     We turned off the lights, climbed into bed, and I fell asleep to the steady sound of Jamie’s beautiful heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Arno, we had to use a mimeograph machine to make copies for teaching. I got so used to using it, that when I thought about coming back to the States, I wondered what I would do without it. How would I make copies of worksheets for my students? Ummm, copy machines, maybe?
> 
> And, um, TMI. This afternoon I had my husband kneel down in front of me. I told him it was for science. He's 6'2", I'm 5'6". He has decided he really likes being the lab rat for all my writing. . .

**Author's Note:**

> The cultural elements of this story come from my own experience on Arno in the Marshall Islands in the 90s. I was there as a college student, volunteering as a 4th through 6th grade teacher for a year. We met some people in the Peace Corps out there, though there wasn’t a clinic or nurse. 
> 
> I’ve always wanted to write about this vivid experience, but never felt that I could be truly honest since I’d shared the time with two other college girls—and by telling my story I’d be writing about them as well. Sticking a version of Claire and Jamie into the locale has helped me be more truthful—even though it’s fiction!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Jamie and pizza](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12996669) by [Cantrix_grisea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantrix_grisea/pseuds/Cantrix_grisea)
  * [Wedding...???](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13015890) by [Cantrix_grisea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantrix_grisea/pseuds/Cantrix_grisea)




End file.
